The Search
by Tabbycat2000
Summary: ~CHAPTER 7 UP~ HP chars as Muggle detectives! Virginia Weasley has gone missing, and now it's up to partners Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to find her- if they don't kill each other first! Will be G/D eventually, bear with me folks.
1. Break-Ups and Shake-Ups

"Hey Malfoy

The Search

Chapter One: Break-Ups and Shake-Ups

"Hey Malfoy."

The tall, pale man nodded cordially at the greeting. "Hey. Where's Weasley?"

Seamus Finnigan jerked a thumb in the direction of the filing room. "She's in there, looking up something about Tom Riddle."

Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes. "She's obsessed with the psycho," he muttered to himself. "Thanks, Seamus." He started walking backwards towards the filing room. "Hey Seamus, tell the boss man I'll be late for the meeting this afternoon," he said. "Got an interview with a hot chick that I just can't turn down." He mock-grimaced and turned around.

"You still milking that Abbott chick for info?" called Seamus. When Draco didn't respond he shook his head and went back to the transcript he'd been thumbing through.

Draco barged into the filling room, sending the doors flinging back with a loud bang. Somewhere near the back he heard a crash and a string of multi-language cursing. He followed the noise.

Virginia Weasley picked up the drawer she'd accidentally yanked out and started trying to put it back in the filing cabinet, muttering under her breath about noisy junior detectives and nosy reporters with nothing better to do.

"You need some help, Gin?"

Virginia looked up and rolled her eyes at her partner. "Well, duh, what do you think, Blondie?" she snapped irritably. "Can't get the stupid drawer back in."

"Think I got here just in time then," said Draco, trying not to smirk. He helped Virginia shove the drawer back in, and then they started picking up the papers she'd dropped.

"So, any new leads?" asked Draco.

"Nope," replied Virginia, shaking her head. "I should know better, I've combed these files hundreds of times over, but I just felt like taking a peek again."

"Ah." 

They finished picking up the stray papers and carried them to the small table in the center of the room, already strewn with files.

"I heard there's some new guy joinin' up," said Draco abruptly. "He's supposed to-"

"Have experience with this Tom Riddle character," finished Virginia wearily. "But all the information I've been able to get about his knowledge is they hate each other's guts."

"Well, it was worth a try," muttered Draco. He ran a hand through his almost white hair. "Anyway, I've got more info on the Lawson case. Man, that girl is cagey."

Virginia looked up sharply. "Where is it?"

"In my office. No way I'm gonna haul a briefcase around and ruin my suave image." He struck a romantic pose, and Virginia elbowed him.

"Goof-ball. I'll look at this crud later, let's see the info."

They left the filing room and headed down the long hallway towards the 'offices.' Actually they were more like cubicles, but 'office' was shorter and sounded better.

Draco sat backward in his chair and spun around. He grabbed a slender manila file off the cluttered desk and tossed it to Virginia. She caught it deftly and flipped it open.

"I know I sound like a fanatic, but this whole thing is starting to fit the-"

"Riddle pattern, right?"

Virginia nodded, not even looking up.

"Yeah. Anyway, just keep readin'. This girl's rich, she is. Either she's a brilliant liar or she's telling the truth."

Virginia scrutinized Draco over the rims of her reading glasses, but when he didn't volunteer any more information she shrugged and continued reading.

Cho Chang appeared behind Draco's desk, brandishing a telephone.

"Hey Malfoy, you've got a call from the hospital," she said, brandishing a portable telephone under his nose. "Name 'Hannah Abbott' strike a chord?"

Draco cursed under his breath and seized the telephone.

"Detective Malfoy."

He listened for a moment, then sent Virginia a frustrated look. "Yeah, I'll be right by. Try and keep this under wraps, okay?"

He hung up and handed it back to Cho, who promptly disappeared, brazenly swinging her hips as she went. Draco faced Virginia.

"Hannah Abbot's been killed," he said flatly. "Let's go."

Twenty minutes later they were standing in the hospital morgue.

"Let's see her," said Virginia. The doctor opened the little door and pulled out the long tray with the sheeted body on it.

Virginia pulled the sheet back partially, just enough to reveal the woman's face. It was broken and bruised almost beyond recognition, but she could still make out the high cheekbones and honey blonde hair that made Hannah Abbot easily recognizable to everyone.

"Cause of death?" asked Draco tersely. The doctor consulted her clipboard.

"She had several stab wounds, sir, she bled to death on the ride to the hospital. We also found some things next to her, if you'd like to see them.

Draco and Virginia exchanged looks. Draco nodded. "Yes please. Where are they?"

"Right over here."

Virginia stiffened when she saw the tattered piece of paper bearing the mark of the infamous villain Riddle- a skull with a snake in lieu of a tongue.

"We found this, as well as this." The doctor gestured to a small knife, with a thin blade that was almost seven inches long.

"We'll need to take these in for fingerprint analysis," said Draco, pulling on a rubber glove and placing the objects in plaster bags.

"I'll make sure a medical examiner from our department will come and examine the body," said Virginia to the plump female doctor. "They should be along later today."

The doctor nodded. "That will do fine. Anything else you'd like to see?"

"Have you still got her clothes and her purse?" asked Draco sharply.

"Yes, I'll just go and fetch them."

The doctor bustled off.

"Somebody caught her," said Draco grimly. "This wasn't a random killing, not by any measure of the imagination."

While Draco talked, Virginia fished a camera out of her purse and began photographing the evidence and the body.

"I was already thinking Riddle had something to do with this mess," Draco continued grimly, "but this clinches it. I've got his number."

Virginia tucked the camera away just as the doctor came bustling back in carrying a pair of large plastic bags.

"Here you are," she said, placing them on the table. "Don't know how much use they'll be, though, they're awfully bloody."

"Thank you, Dr. Pomfrey. We'd best be going." The two detectives picked up their booty and left.

"The Riddle case just reopened," said Draco grimly.

* * *

"Yo, Malfoy, Weasley, Ye Olde Boss Man wants a word with ya," Dean Thomas called as they passed. "Somethin' about riddles."

Virginia and Draco sighed and reconfigured their trajectory, instead heading for the chief's office.

Al Dumbledore was well over sixty, but if someone had told Draco he was three hundred ninety-two he'd have believed it without question. The guy was an antique of the saddest sort.

Virginia rapped lightly on Dumbledore's office door—he actually had a _real_ office—and was greeted with an admonition to enter. She grasped the doorknob and opened the door.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, stroking his short, full beard, reading something. He looked up when he heard the door open.

"Ah, Weasley, Malfoy. I've been waiting for you. Have a seat."

They sat in the two chairs before Dumbledore's desk, looking about nervously. Dumbledore may have been ancient (and he was) but he had a sharp mind, and was a formidable foe in any battle of wits.

Dumbledore paused and gave the pair a scrutinizing look. Then he sighed heavily.

"I'm splitting you up."

Virginia's jaw hung slack for a moment, but she shut it with a sharp snap.

"Sir, what're you getting at?" demanded Draco angrily. "We're the best partnership in this whole department!"

"Weasley, you're needed elsewhere," said Dumbledore sharply. "As for you, Malfoy, you're being placed with a new partner, a young man by the name of Potter."

Draco groaned audibly. "You're putting me with Wonder Boy?"

Dumbledore gave him a sharp look and Draco fell silent.

"Malfoy, you're to report here first thing Monday morning. The partnership will be considered in force at that point. You're dismissed. Miss Weasley, please stay a moment."

Draco stood angrily, resisting the urge to chuck his chair at Dumbledore's head, and marched stiff-legged from the room. 

* * *

Draco propped his feet up on the coffee table, ignoring the pounding of rain outside his apartment window. He flipped open the file he'd pilfered from the filing room.

Potter, Harold James, it read.

Draco fought down laughter as he read the file. He knew Potter slightly, and he'd heard the water cooler gossip on the midget, but this file took the cake.

He and Riddle were tried-and true enemies, it seemed. He'd taken out Potter's parents, so when Potter was a junior in college he took out—single-handedly, according to the report—ten of Riddle's lackeys. Riddle had gotten away with a badly burned face. Apparently Potter had a penchant for flame-throwers and other dangerous weaponry. The only attribute the guy had that was worth anything, in Draco's book. He felt suddenly very smug over the fact that he'd given Potter several shiners in months past. The kid had been begging for a bit of comeuppance, and this record solidified his opinion of that.

"Wonder Boy," snorted Draco. "Through and through. What a flake. And this is the guy Gin hangs out with on weekends? Please."

He tossed to file on the couch and grabbed the remote, flipping through channels for something at least partially funny and stupid.

Halfway through an episode of the Three Stooges, the telephone rang. Draco put the television on mute and grabbed the offending device.

"Malfoy here."

Dumbledore's voice was cool, calm, and collected. "Hello, Malfoy. I'm afraid I have a bit of bad news for you."

"Yeah? What's that, the Dow Jones hit rock-bottom?"

Dumbledore ignored Draco's flippancy. "Weasley's been kidnapped by Riddle's lackeys."

Draco choked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Malfoy. Come in to the office. Now."

Needless to say, Draco obeyed.

* * *

Harry Potter nervously shifted his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet and back again, hands shoved deep into the pockets of the leather jacket. He felt nervous.

Potter didn't do nervous. He shoved the feeling away.

The door opened. In walked Dumbledore, looking immensely pleased about something (though it was probably more smug than pleased), trailed by a toothpick with hair.

That was Harry's immediate impression, and, indeed, he wasn't far off. While Draco Malfoy was easily one of the tallest men in the department, standing at a rather intimidating six foot four, he was built like the proverbial beanpole. He also looked as if he'd never heard of the word 'tan'.

Harry, on the other hand, was rather short- five feet eight inches, of all things. He was rather lean and muscular due to inordinate amounts of time spent working out, and had a healthy tan. His hair stuck out; of course, but it didn't look as bad as it could, as he'd succeeded in combing it back.

Draco spied the short, dark-haired man and smirked. "You called in the wonder boy? I thought such incompetents weren't allowed on real cases."

Dumbledore shot him a sharp look and Draco clamed up, although he caught a caustic look from the midget. He grinned evilly.

Dumbledore looked squarely at the two men- both of whom had personal connections to Virginia.

"I'm putting you on the Bogan case," he said coldly. "You're not to track down Miss Weasley."

There were twin cries of outrage. Draco had been perched in one of the chairs, but he stood sharply and glowered angrily at Dumbledore.

"You wouldn't dare," he hissed, gray eyes practically glowing with malice. "You wouldn't _dare_."

"I'm afraid it's already been done," said Dumbledore blandly. "You're both emotionally tied to Virginia, it would alter your judgement."

Draco cursed vehemently and kicked the desk. "No kidding!"

Harry had been silent, but he sighed heavily and nodded. "All right, all right. We won't. We'll do the Bogan case."

Draco shot him a poisonous look that would have made braver men falter, but Harry stood firm. Dumbledore nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Good. Now, go. I'm sure you'd both like to get your thoughts organized."

They stepped out of the office.

Instantly Draco grabbed Harry by the collar and slammed him into the wall.

"What in Hades are you doing?!" he hissed through gritted teeth.

"I never said anything about when we'd do the Bogan case," said Harry defensively, trying to ignore his dangling feet. "You think I actually _want_ some nutter to get off with Virginia?!"

Draco growled and released Harry, who fell back to the floor. He rubbed slightly at his throat, wincing.

"What do you plan on doing?" Draco asked, eyeing the shorter man appraisingly.

Harry adjusted his glasses. "I plan on hauling my rear over to evidence and going through everything they got on her disappearance so far, and then I'm gonna beat the crap out of whoever kidnapped her."

"Nice plan."

"Thanks."

The two men glared at each other. They knew each other both by reputation and through Virginia, and didn't exactly care for each other. More than once they'd been pried off each other in furious fistfights over some tiny fact.

"Look," said Harry impatiently, "I know you hate my guts, but can we please hold back the hostilities at least long enough to find Virginia?"

"I will if you will," Draco retorted. Meaning he agreed.

"Let's go."


	2. Here, Kitty, Kitty...

Draco fished through his pocket

AN- I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations! Anyway, don't worry, this leads into some interesting happenings, so it's not a total loss. BTW, since I didn't say this earlier- I don't own the HP characters, JK Rowling does! And I don't have a penny to my name (a few quarters, but no pennies, I can assure you) so it would be utterly useless to sue me.

The Search

Chapter Two: Here, Kitty, Kitty…

Draco fished through his pocket. After a moment he grasped his key ring and pulled it out, the keys jangling slightly.

"You sure this is gonna do any good? She wasn't kidnapped at her apartment, Malfoy," said Harry, eyeing the apartment door as if expecting it to leap up and bite him in the nose.

"Of course I'm sure, Wonder Boy," snorted Draco. "Otherwise we wouldn't be here, would we? Virginia kept records on just about everything she did in this old notebook of hers. I need to know if she was gettin' into anything that might have made Riddle just a tiny bit nervous."

Harry sent Draco a dirty look as the other man shoved a key into the deadbolt. "I'm not five years old, Snow-White," he said irritably. "I just fail to see why this matters."

"Stuff it." Draco opened the apartment door and stepped inside. Harry moved to follow him, but the door was promptly slammed in his face. He heard the click of a locked door and cursed under his breath.

"Be a juvenile idiot, then!" Harry hollered at the door. "See if I care!"

Draco ignored the words drifting through the closed door. He flipped on the lights and walked into the living room.

The entire place screamed Virginia Weasley. Sunny yellow walls, a strange assortment of multi-colored furniture ranging from the plaid armchair by the window to the rose-print velvet sofa in front of the television. Photographs lined the walls. A small entertainment center was propped up on one wall, next to the kitchen door.

There was a soft mew. A gray cat looked curiously up at Draco, blinking his green eyes slowly.

"Hey, Bowen," said Draco absently. He stepped around the feline and walked down the hallway towards Virginia's bedroom.

Everything in the bedroom was some shade of blue. Even the _bookcase_ was a pale shade of blue. Just another facet of Virginia's eccentric personality, Draco decided.

"Where is it…" Draco pulled open the nightstand drawer and shuffled through its contents. A pair of novels- one romance, the other western. Loose Post-It notes. A locked diary. And, strangely, a green and yellow sock.

"Well, this is a lot of help," Draco muttered sarcastically. "Disorganized woman…"

Draco proceeded to comb through the entire room, seeing neither hide nor hair of Virginia's stash of notebooks. Finally, in a childish bought of frustration, he kicked a novel across the room.

"Rawwooo!"

Draco jumped. Bowen was standing a few inches away from where the book had fallen, fur bristling, hissing.

"Sorry, Bowen," Draco muttered. He eyed the angry cat, wondering if he was going to claw his way up his leg- Bowen had done it before, too.

There was something stuck to Bowen's collar.

Draco's eyebrows knitted together. This was just weird. Apparently Virginia had been reading too many serial mysteries. Either that or Bowen had a penchant for eating paper, who knew.

Draco crouched in front of the hissing cat. Bowen let out a kitty growl.

"I don't have time for this, fur ball," grumbled Draco. He grabbed Bowen by the collar and stifled a yelp as Bowen put claw marks down his bare arms.

"Fine! Be that way!" Draco grabbed the Post-It stuck to Bowen's collar and tossed the gray cat out of the room. Bowen ran the instant he hit the floor.

Draco stuck a cut finger in his mouth, wincing. "Stupid cat."

He examined the Post-It. It had some fur stuck to it, but he could make it out.

__

Paper makes up lots of litter, it said, it Virginia's familiar chicken-scratch handwriting. Draco smiled wryly. _Scratch_ was right, with that stupid cat around.

So… what did this have to do with anything?

Draco flipped the note over. A crude cat's face was scrawled across the neon pink paper.

It might be just a random note… then again, it might not.

Draco rolled his eyes. He was completely mad. He stuck the note on the bedpost and left the bedroom.

He spent well over half an hour combing through the rest of the apartment, finding nothing of interest. Again.

Outside, Harry sat on the welcome mat, back against the door. He blew a stray lock of jet-black hair out of his eyes.

Stupid pale idiot. He didn't need to get so snippy just because he had stated his opinion.

Harry blew a raspberry into the air, for lack of anything better to do. This was bloody _boring._

"Forget this," Harry mumbled to himself. "I'm goin' home."

He moved to stand, but before he could he fell over backwards.

Wha-?

"Nice to see you too, Potter."

Harry scrambled to his feet and turned to face Draco. He opened the door while Harry was still leaning against it, hence the subsequent over-balancing act.

"Shaddup," said Harry irritably, trying to salvage some of his defaced pride. "So, did you find what you were looking for, Oh Pale One?"

Draco chose to ignore the bait. "No," he said snippily. "Unless you'd like to take a gander, Haystack."

Harry stuck his tongue out in reply, knowing full well that he looked more like an angry toddler than a full-grown man.

"How mature," muttered Draco. He pushed past Harry, smirking as he noted that he towered head and shoulders over the Wonder Dork.

"Maybe I will go look," said Harry, wincing inwardly at his childish tone. "And I'll even find it, ha!"

"Be my guest, midget."

Harry rolled his eyes and marched through the still open apartment door, nose in the air, trying hard not to look as miffed as he felt.

He thought he heard a muffled giggle from Draco's general direction, but ignored it.

Harry stood in the middle of Virginia's front room, hands on hips, and looked around the rather eccentric-looking room. He adjusted his glasses and glared at the plaid armchair as if it were the cause of all his problems.

"Smashing good search method," Draco drawled sarcastically from the front door. Harry bit back a stinging retort and began riffling through the room, even looking in the video cabinet and under the sofa cushions. The entire time Draco stood just inside the apartment door, delivering scathing comments that made Harry wonder what Draco would look like smeared across Virginia's ceiling. He smirked to himself at the mental image.

"What's so funny, Potter? Finally realized how stupid you look?"

Harry bit back a growl and shoved the couch cushion back into place.

Draco rolled his eyes at the ludicrous spectacle. The man was a complete imbecile. Did he really expect to find a secret stash of tax records under the _sofa_? He'd thought Potter was a bit off his onion, but this took the cake.

"I'm leavin'," said Draco suddenly, surprising both himself and the still-rummaging Harry. "Be psychotic in private and leave me out of it, shrimp."

Draco adjusted his jacket and marched stiff-legged from the apartment, wondering if he should lock Harry in. He abandoned the idea and headed towards the parking lot.

Harry sent the closed door an irritated glance. He was just about done with the living room, anyway.

"Does he have male PMS or something?" Harry muttered to himself as he peered into the coat closet. "Ruddy irritable, he is."

* * *

Draco tossed his jacket into the closet on top of a mound of shoes and baseball caps. He kicked the door closed.

He headed into the kitchen, pressing a button on his answering machine as he passed the table in the entryway. He half-listened to it as he peered into the refrigerator in search of the bottle of Gatorade he knew was in there _somewhere_.

"Draco, it's Mum. You really need to stop working so late; it's nearly ten. Anyway, call me back. Lots of love."

Draco rolled his eyes and grabbed the orange juice in lieu of his precious—and apparently gone—Gatorade. "I'm surprised she hasn't given herself cavities. Sweeter than a bowl of treacle, and twice as unbearable."

"Malfoy, it's Ron Weasley. Have you seen Virginia? She was supposed to come to my place tonight and I haven't seen her. I thought you might have some idea of where she got off to. Number's 583-472-9784."

Draco groaned theatrically and smacked his forehead with the palm of his left hand. He should have known better than to think he could get away with not contacting the Weasleys. From the sound of it, Dumbledore hadn't bothered calling them. Or if he had, he hadn't given the entire story, just some cock-and-bull rubbish that made no logical sense. Not that anything Dumbledore ever made any sense, mind you.

He sighed, rubbed his face, and took a swig of juice. He was too ruddy tired to deal with the Weasley clan tonight. He had every intention of going to bed and staying there for the next three millennia.

Or at least until tomorrow morning.

* * *

Harry glanced at his watch and groaned. It was eleven thirty at night, and he still hadn't found anything.

"Forget this," he muttered to himself. He marched into the bathroom, intent on relieving himself and then going home.

After he took care of his stuff, Harry opened the small closet in search of a towel. All he saw were various cosmetics and a bag of kitty litter.

Harry rolled his eyes. He glanced behind the kitty litter, but didn't see any towels. He turned to leave-

Wait a second.

Harry yanked the kitty litter out of the closet and stared at what lay on the floor.

Three battered notebooks, a scrapbook, and a pile of envelopes.

Harry let out a whoop of triumph and grabbed the booty.

"Take that, Malfoy!"


	3. Telephones, Redheads, and Cookery

Ron scowled at the pile of envelopes that had just been pushed through the mail slot

The Search

Chapter Three: Telephones, Redheads, and Cookery

Ron scowled at the pile of envelopes that had just been pushed through the mail slot. He _really_ wasn't in the mood to pay any cable bills right now. Mornings sucked, no mattered how much he was forced to get up during them.

As he was picking up the collection of wrinkled white envelopes, someone rapped smartly on the door. Sticking the mail on a handy table, he opened the door.

Draco cocked an eyebrow at the sight that met his eyes when the door opened. Ron Weasley was an odd fellow at the best of times, but at the moment he positively strange.

His wavy dark red hair was sticking out in all directions, so much so that Draco half expected it to start singing "My Hair Had A Party Last Night" with a dance to match. A pencil was stuck behind one of Ron's ears. He also looked both extremely snappish and positively exhausted.

His clothes were a bit rumpled as well, but that was normal for Ron. Beat-up, perpetually untied sneakers, tatty jeans that might once have been dark blue, a white T-shirt, and a too-large black button-up that flapped around Ron's frame like a sail.

"What do you want?" Ron grunted irritably.

"Wonderful way to great your informant," said Draco glibly, ignoring Ron's disgruntled state. So what if it was eight o' clock in the morning? He didn't need to be so ornery.

"_Right_. So, what information do you think I need?" Ron pulled the pencil out from behind his ear and spun it idly between his fingers, looking like some kind of extremely rumpled reporter sans notebook and annoyingly perfect looks. 

"Let me in and maybe I'll tell you, Weasley," said Draco, fighting down the urge to deck the redheaded man before him. Unfortunately, Ron might have been three inches shorter than him, but he was at least twenty pounds heavier, so Draco wasn't going to take any unnecessary chances.

Ron stepped grudgingly away from the doorframe, allowing Draco access into the small house. Draco nodded cordially to the shorter man and walked past the foyer and into the main living area.

"Are you crazy, Burns? Dutch currency has been dropping like a stone, tell anyone to invest in that and come next Thursday you'll be crucified downtown."

Draco cocked an eyebrow as the woman's voice drifted out of the kitchen. He peeked through the door.

A cell phone in one hand, mug in the other, a dark haired, rather pale woman was marching up and down the kitchen floor, talking furiously with someone on the other end. The complete opposite of Ron, she was very professional looking, even if she was wearing a baseball jersey, shorts, and a pair of hiking boots. Her hair was a bit tangled, but it didn't seem to bother her.

Draco felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Ron looking expectantly at him.

"What?"

"You said you had something to tell me, ferret. So say it."

Draco winced slightly. "My reputation precedes me, I see," he said jokingly. "Let's have a seat, I'm not exactly bearing happy tidings, you know."

"That so," said Ron disbelievingly. 

Draco ignored him and made his way to the sofa. He plopped down into it, fighting the urge to spread-eagle across it just to get ol' Weasley's dander up.

"Spill it, Casper," said Ron bluntly as he settled into the armchair on the other side of the room, a point that Draco observed with some amusement. "What's so important that you need to come over to my house at eight AM on a Saturday?"

"Well, you're the one who called about Virginia last night," said Draco snappishly, get a bit fed up with Ron's morning persona. "Excuse me for coming over to let you know in person, Weasel."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Whatever. So spill it."

Despite himself, Draco edged farther away from Ron in a vain bid to get out of pouncing range.

"Riddlegother."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, Riddle got her. She's been abducted, and I don't mean by little green men."

Ron glared lasers at the pale man perched nervously on his living room sofa. "If you're lying, I will personally use you for batting practice."

"I don't doubt it," said Draco thinly.

"For goodness' sakes Ron, stop being an intimidating twerp."

Both men jumped at the sharp statement. The dark-haired woman was standing in the doorway; hands on hips and looking rather nonplussed.

"What?" said Ron innocently, holding out his hands. "I didn't do anything! He's the nutter saying some idiot's got off with my kid sister!"

"It's true!" said Draco hotly. "Don't go getting mad at me, I don't like it any better than you," he added.

"Someone fill me in, please," said the woman nervously, glancing from Ron to Draco and back again.

"It's simple, Hermione- Riddle's run off with Virginia, and now I have to beat the living daylights out of him," said Ron simply. "It'll be loads of fun, too," he added darkly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're the all-original hothead, Ron. Do try and calm down before you hurt yourself." She looked at Draco. "Is that all the information you have, or is there anything else you know of that you can enlighten us with?"

Surprised by Hermione's levelheaded approach to the whole situation, Draco shook his head. "No, ma'am. I don't know any more than you."

Hermione cast him an amused glance. "Just Hermione, thanks. I get enough of 'ma'am' at work. Anyway, is there any way we can help?"

"Not at the moment." Draco stood. "I need to get going, anyway. Got a few leads to chase down."

"All right then. It's been nice seeing you, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco marched out of the house and down the front steps.

"That was interesting," he murmured to himself. "Odd couple, they are."

* * *

Harry glowered at the open notebook on the coffee table before him. He was ready to beat the collection to within an inch of its life, and then torch it to death.

Virginia's handwriting was a scribbled mess that could easily be confused with the random scratching of a drunken chicken. A drunk _stoned_ chicken that hadn't eaten in a week. And what Harry _could_ decipher from the incoherent mess made no logical sense whatsoever. It might have to a raving lunatic, mind you, but definitely not to one Harold J. Potter.

__

Kill the targets and the witnesses

Minimal clues

Green and purple argyle socks

Untraceable

Military hierarchy

Fifteen stanzas, typically

Something about vultures

Bandana-wearing thugs?!

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

King cobra or python

Arsenic and cauliflower

Goat guts

Harry shook his head to clear it of all the garbled nonsense. It made his head swim, looking at the understandable bits he'd copied down onto some spare paper in his own neatly printed handwriting.

He and Virginia were good friends, but he could not abide her disorganized way of thinking, nor her ludicrously indecipherable handwriting.

The cordless telephone rang. Harry absently reached over and picked it up off its distant corner of the cluttered coffee table, still puzzling over the odd notebooks.

"Potter House of Insanity," Harry said absently.

"I _knew_ there was something weird about you, Wonder Boy…"

Harry snapped back to the land of Here and Now. "Hi, Malfoy," he muttered disconsolately. "What do _you_ want?"

"Well, my own Hawaiian Island would be ideal-"

"Sod it, Malfoy."

"That'd be a horrible waste of oceanfront property, don't you think?"

"If you don't get to the point, Malfoy," Harry growled, "I'm gonna hang up on you and dump bloody _maple syrup_ down your trousers next time I see you!"

"I like Aunt Jemima, in case you're wondering. Anyway, even though baiting you is ever so much fun, I'll have to give you what you want. Did you ever find the notebooks after I left Virginia's last night?"

"Yeah. They were in the linen closet, hiding behind a bag of kitty litter."

There was a long pause.

"Malfoy?"

"Have you read them?" said Draco abruptly.

"Define read," Harry replied dryly. "I can't make out one ruddy letter. Virginia wouldn't know good handwriting if it danced naked in front of her with neon green hair, singing the Bohemian national anthem."

"Sounds like Virginia to me, all right."

"So, would you please help me translate some of this craziness?" said Harry irritably. "Unless I need to go buy a special decoder."

"I've been living off Virginia's notes since college," said Draco, sounding amused. "I'd think that I'd have gotten the hang of it by now, wouldn't you?"

Harry grunted in reply, unwilling to give Draco the satisfaction of a spoken answer.

"Whatever, Potter. Look, I've got a contact to go verbally abuse, meet me at the office tonight at six."

"Sure," said Harry grudgingly.

"All right, later midget."

* * *

Draco hung up the pay phone and stepped out of the glass phone booth, adjusting the denim jacket thrown hastily over his shoulders. Then, hoping that he wouldn't get tossed out the door (again), he crossed the street and marched into a small café.

It was small, dark, and crowded inside. Just the kind of place for a double agent to work in, Draco mused absently. Nice and subterranean-looking.

He walked up to the counter. The waitress behind it cocked an eyebrow at him and cocked an eyebrow, blowing a strand of blinding purple hair off her forehead.

"Snape in?" he asked.

"Depends on who's looking for him," the girl replied coyly. 'Erin,' her nametag read.

"Look, Erin, isn't it? I need to speak with him about a very important matter, and I don't mean greasy hamburgers."

Erin glared at him for a moment, then disappeared into the kitchen. Draco leaned against the counter, tapping his fingers on the chipped surface and looking around absently.

"What're you doin' here, Malfoy?"

Draco looked up sharply. Snape was standing behind the counter, wiping his hands on the end of his apron and looking very nonplussed indeed.

"Needed some good company in a great atmosphere," Draco replied flippantly. "Seems this little hole-in-the-wall fits the bill."

"Don't give me your crap, Malfoy. I've got work to do, I don't need your bloody flippancy."

Draco sighed. "Well, if you insist. It seems that some friends of yours have taken something I value a lot, and I'd like to have it back."

Snape, while the ugliest short-order cook around, was no fool. "Red hair, brown eyes, no sense of organization, correct?"

"Right on the ball, buddy. So, you heard anything about it?"

Snape cocked an eyebrow at Draco. "I know I'm not the only mole in this whole thing."

Draco's brows knotted together in confusion. "There's someone at the office, passing info around unpopular circles?"

"You might say that," Snape replied. "Haven't the foggiest idea who. Apparently they organized this whole thing. Your friend was getting too close to certain things in her personal investigations, but they couldn't just bump her off." Snape smiled nastily. "They wanted to, but they need to know what she knows."

Draco nodded. That made sense, if you looked at the world through the sanitarium window. Thankfully (or not), madness ran rampant in Draco's family (he wasn't sure if he had been affected or not, he couldn't tell) so he knew where these nutters were coming from.

"Anything else on the subject?"

"The girl's being used as bait. Watch your step."

"Bait for who? Me?"

"Among others."

Draco was about to say more, but Snape turned and marched back into the kitchen. Draco cast the doorway an annoyed look.

"How's that for cooperation. No manners whatsoever."

Erin reappeared carrying a platter carrying three plates loaded with food. She headed out into the tables. "Take a seat and order somethin' or leave, buddy," she called over her shoulder.

Deciding he'd take his chances in the crowded streets, Draco left the tiny café, mulling over the recent conversation in his head.

Snape was cagey, he concluded. A cagey short-order cook with nothing better to do than rat on the most powerful terrorist on the planet.

Sometimes Draco wondered if his life would ever be really normal.

* * *

The apartment was quiet. And dark, save for the glow of a single lamp in the living room. In the bedroom down the hall, the digital alarm clock glowed the time eight oh five.

There was a sudden snorting noise, followed by rustling.

Harry blearily opened his eyes, after having woken himself up snoring. He wondered for a moment why his face felt squashed, and what that black stuff was. Then his brain started to function properly and he rolled over, nearly giving his nose rug burn.

He adjusted his glasses and sat up. Harry looked around, wondering what happened.

Ah. He'd fallen asleep reading—or more aptly stated, looking at—Virginia's scribbled mumbo-jumbo. This wasn't very surprising, as he'd been up until three the night before, trying to translate the notebooks, as well as getting lost on the way home from Virginia's apartment. Then he'd gotten up at six-thirty and spent the morning glaring at the evidence over at the office. After which he'd gone home and glared at the notebooks.

Harry sat up, stifling a yawn. He was on the living room carpet, having fallen off the couch somewhere in the middle of his impromptu nap.

The telephone rang. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden sound. He grabbed the cordless telephone and answered it.

"Potter here," he said, voice still rough from sleep.

"You're still alive, eh? I was starting to wonder."

Harry instantly recognized the drawling, slightly sarcastic tenor voice as belonging to one Draco Malfoy.

"What're you talking about, Malfoy?" His brain was still too fuzzy to come up with an appropriate retort. He'd make up for it when he was fully awake, though.

"It's past eight, idiot. I've been sitting here for two bloody hours waiting for you to get over here. And I don't know your address, so that kind of rules out kicking your door down and using your head as a bongo drum."

"That's a wonderful mental image, Malfoy," said Harry dryly. "Look, I'll give you my address and you can come over and badger me in person if you like. I'm not driving anywhere, my brain's decided to move to Uzbekistan."

"I'll send it a postcard when I get the chance. What's your address?"

Want more? Well, I need more reviews. Once I get twenty-five or so I'll post the next one. Ain't bribery fun? Also, thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, and I hope this chapter has lived up to your expectations. ::cackles evilly at Snape:: Snape's a short-order cook in a seedy diner! BWAHAHAHA!

BTW, I need a vote- is Harry Virginia's current BF, or a good friend? Can't decide which. 


	4. In-Laws, Out-Laws, and No-Laws

Saturday morning, 10:35

A/N- This is a tiny bit longer than the other chapters, I hope you enjoy! And Amy, Ginny/Virginia makes a brief appearance, hah! Also, major thankees to everyone who reviewed, gave me ideas, whatever! Draco Ginny Fan Fic and hpfics- thanks for putting up with my incessant, highly eccentric ramblings.

Draco- More like mad mutterings.

Shut up, you. ::mutters about the inability of Slytherin muses::

Draco- I heard that.

::ahem:: Anyway, enjoy! Oh, and leave a BIG ol' honkin' review in the little box!

The Search

Chapter Four: In-Laws, Out-Laws, and No-Laws

__

Saturday morning, 10:35

"You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding."

"I can't lie, Penny."

"Tell that to your husband. How long has she been missing?"

"Since last night, I think. I've been calling family all morning."

"Don't go running after her like amateur sleuths, the way you three did in college. Percy wanted to ring your necks."

"Harry's a professional detective, Penny, and what else is Ron supposed to do? You know he and Virginia were close as kids. He feels awfully guilty about all this."

"Well, I would too. Have you called Mom?"

"Molly? No, I was saving her for last. Give the clan my love, will you Penny? And don't tell the kids, it's bad enough with the adults worrying, never mind having a bunch of six-year-olds in hysterics."

"All right, Hermione. I'll talk to you later."

Hermione said good-bye to her sister-in-law and hung up the phone. She gave a heavy sigh and raked a hand through her hair. She was used to playing mental ring-around-the-rosy with investors and clients of all mental plateaus, but running the family gauntlet with bad news in hand always left her brain feeling withered and unresponsive.

"Who next…" She ran a finger down the hastily scribbled list of names on a stray paper napkin Ron had left on the kitchen table the night before. Bill and Enid knew all about it, she'd called them first. Charlie was out of the country, so Hermione had skipped him. Penny and Percy knew, obviously. So did George and Marisa. No one knew where Fred was- always the black sheep of the family, he'd disappeared eight months previous and no one had seen hide nor hair of him since, least of all his ex-girlfriend Angie, who was still extremely mad at him for pulling a Houdini on her.

The only ones left were Molly and Arthur Weasley. They lived about an hour south of Ron and Hermione's house. Hermione momentarily toyed with the idea of driving to their house to drop the bomb in person.

"Ron, would your parents react better if we told them about Virginia in person?" Hermione called absently, fiddling with her pen.

Ron didn't answer. Frowning slightly, Hermione put down the pen and walked into the front room. It was empty.

"Ron?"

"In here." Ron's voice was slightly muffled, but Hermione was able to follow it.

Ron was sitting on the floor on the den, flipping through an old family photo album. Hermione crouched next to him, curiously looking over his shoulder.

It was Ron's old album, the one he'd had when he'd suddenly found an interest in candid photography in high school. He'd given it up in favor of sports, but he still had all his photographs.

The current page was covered in pictures of Virginia just after the last practical joke Fred had played on her. Her hair was bright blue, sticking out in all directions, tears of laughter on her face.

"That was a long time ago, wasn't it," said Ron, his voice sounding oddly detached. "It's weird, how things can change so much."

He was drifting through the lovely place called Memory Lane, that was obvious. But Hermione knew him well enough to read all his emotions like an open book.

"Stop blaming yourself. She's a big girl, she can take care of herself."

"I know that, Hermione," said Ron, sounding vaguely irritated. "But if I hadn't started ignoring her so much, I might have found out when she got in over her head."

"I'd say that happened last night. There's not that much you can do about this."

Ron looked up at Hermione; skepticism mixed with a trickle of anger and about fifty tons of determination on his tan, freckled face. "We got her back before, Hermione. We can do it again."

"Virginia did half the work that time. Riddle isn't going to let her get away this time around."

"And I'm not going to let him keep her, either."

Hermione wanted to help too, but this was ludicrous! Ron thought he was going to just march into Riddle's headquarters and demand to have his baby sister back, and they'd just hand her over.

"You're a _minor league baseball player,_ Ron!" cried Hermione, exasperated. "I'm an _investment broker_, for crying out loud! How could we possibly track down the most elusive terrorist on the planet?"

"We've done it before," said Ron stubbornly.

"So?!"

Ron cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Fine. We'll go save your sister," said Hermione, annoyed, knowing she wasn't going to win no matter what she did. Which was frustrating, as Ron wasn't even arguing. "Just don't blame me if your get your head blown off."

"I thought it was your job to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Being backup for you is like asking for death by firing squad, _honestly_ Ron. Look, what are we going to do about your parents? We have to tell them some time."

Ron shrugged. "You're the one telling everyone." He cringed at the sharp look his wife gave him.

"I'm going to tell them in person, and you're going to come with me," said Hermione. "Let's go."

* * *

__

Saturday, 12:05

Molly Weasley looked critically at the rolls through the oven door. They weren't quite done, she could tell by just looking at them.

Someone knocked on the door. Molly straightened quickly and walked out of the kitchen, past her sleeping husband in the living room, and to the front door.

Quickly wiping her floury hands off on her apron, she grasped doorknob and pulled the door open. "Oh, hello!" said Molly, startled, when she saw her son and his wife standing on the porch.

"Hey, Mum," said Ron. "How is everything?"

"Lovely. Come in, come in." She stepped back to allow the couple entrance.

"Where's Arthur?" asked Hermione curiously, looking around the entry hall.

"He fell asleep on the sofa." Molly closed the door and began taking off her apron. Cooking could wait.

"What're you cooking?" asked Ron wandering into the kitchen.

"Bread, in various forms. Would you like a slice, dear?"

"No, but thanks anyway."

"If you're sure, dear." Molly placed a bowl of bread dough in the refrigerator and hung her apron over the back of a kitchen chair. She gestured for her son to follow her into the living room.

"Arthur, wake up," coaxed Molly, prodding her husband's shoulder. He batted her hand away and snored on.

"Let me handle it," said Hermione, with an eerie sort of detached-looking smile. Ignoring her mother-in-law's questioning look, she stood in front of the sofa. Then, before anyone could stop her, she grabbed Arthur's foot and wrist and yanked him off the sofa.

****

Thump!

Arthur let out a yelp of surprise, snapping instantly into awareness. Molly gave Hermione a scandalized look.

"Was that really necessary, dear?"

"This isn't the time for coaxing, Molly, we need him awake and perfectly aware," said Hermione, ignoring Molly's horrified look. Ron easily read Hermione's actions as being those of a woman frazzled to her nerve's end, with absolutely no patience left. Hermione rarely got this way, except after dealing with a very stubborn investor or with her boss, but only then in exceptionally rare cases. He determined to steer clear of her the rest of the day.

Arthur stood, running his hands through his almost non-existent red and gray hair. "What on earth are you two doing here?" he asked, seeing Ron and Hermione.

"Yes, why did you drop by?" asked Molly. "We're rather out of the way, you know."

Ron took a deep breath, taking leadership of the crazy situation. Hermione was a bit too stressed to take anymore of all this.

"We've a bit of bad news," said Ron hesitantly. "You might want to sit down, at least then you'll pass out on something soft," he joked feebly. Molly and Arthur both took a seat on the sofa. Hermione took a perch on the armchair.

Ron nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "It's about Virginia," he said, trying to break it gently.

"What about her?" asked Molly cautiously, her eyes darting quickly from Ron to Hermione and back again.

"She… she's been abducted."

Molly turned white. Arthur gaped at his youngest son, disbelief etched across his slightly wrinkled face.

"They're pretty sure that it's Riddle again," said Hermione softly, her hands clenched into fists. "Of course, your son wants to go and find her. Again."

"Are you sure?" Molly asked weakly, hands knotted together like a cauliflower.

"Who ever is?" said Hermione. "But Molly, you know she's obsessed with tracking this guy. She probably knows more about him than the entire department combined. All things considered, this really isn't that surprising."

"Does anyone else know?" asked Arthur, surprisingly levelheaded.

"All Weasleys I could contact. We wanted to tell you two in person, though."

Molly nodded mutely.

"Doesn't Harry work at the department in your city?" asked Arthur suddenly. "Shouldn't he know something about this?"

"I have no idea," said Ron, shaking his head. "Draco Malfoy—remember him, Virginia's _friend_ from college?" He made it sound like the title was very inappropriate for the pair's relationship. "Her partner? Well, he dropped by this morning and dumped this bombshell in our laps. That's all we know about anything."

"All right," said Molly softly, startling the other three. "You've contacted all your brothers, Ron?"

"Hermione did it. She couldn't get to Charlie, and no one knows where Fred is."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you for stopping by," he said, his baritone voice surprisingly soft. "Tell us what you find out, will you?"

"Sure." Ron twiddled his thumbs, unsure of what to do next.

Hermione stood abruptly. "We'd better go, Ron. People to see, things to do, you know. Sorry we can't stay longer," she added, directing the statement to Ron's parents.

"Yeah." Ron followed Hermione towards the door. "We'll let you know what happens."

They left the house, the door closing with a sharp snap behind them.

Molly let out a gasping sob and buried her face in her arms.

* * *

__

Saturday, 4:18 PM

A sharp clatter rang through the dark room, followed by a scream of pure rage.

"Shut up in there!"

The only reply was the sound of something being thrown forcefully against the concrete wall.

Breathing hard, Virginia Weasley sank down onto the small, itchy cot in the corner of her makeshift prison. She flopped backwards and stared at the ceiling.

She growled a few expletives under her breath. "Disgusting little _rats_," she hissed through clenched teeth. "What did I ever do to them!"

Virginia had a pretty good idea, but chose to keep it buried in her subconscious.

She ran a hair through her tangled hair, wishing fervently that she had a brush. The auburn waves had always been easily knotted, and now she was finding herself living under a red rat's nest. And it hadn't even been twenty-four hours yet!

Virginia stifled her anger—an amazing feat for someone with such a short temper—and forced herself to analyze the situation.

No windows. One door, deadbolted and with a constant guard. A typical dirty basement, except for the guard and the metal door. A small half bath in one corner, a cot in the other, and mess everywhere else.

No escaping.

Virginia ignored the thought drifting through her head in favor of the more optimistic type.

__

Last time it didn't seem like there was a way out, and I got out anyway. Just wait for an opportunity, like when you're playing chess. Lull the enemy into a sense of security, then whomp on 'em like nuts. And meanwhile, gather information.

Okay. So… what did she know?

She had a very vague idea of what her attackers looked like. There were three men, one tall, the other two at least five inches shorter than the first. The one who had tackled her had a stocky build, like a football player.

A disturbing thought occurred to Virginia. She shook her head. No, it was impossible.

__

Better safe than sorry, said that little voice in the back of her head. _See if you can eavesdrop at all._

That little voice had saved Virginia's skin more than once, so she knew from experience to follow its suggestions. She slid off the cot and walked up the short set of steps to the door.

There were voices on the other side, she noted absently. She crouched on the top step and pressed her ear against the door, wondering if she could pick up any voices that sounded familiar.

A few minutes later, she wished she hadn't.

* * *

__

Sunday, 7:32 AM

"_ZZzzzzZZzzzzz_…"

"Meow…"

Draco blearily opened his eyes, wondering what on earth that obnoxious thing was. Something fuzzy batted his nose.

He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus.

"Ahhhh!"

Bowen jumped and hissed. He streaked off the bed and out of the room.

Draco sat bolt upright, feeling like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs (pun intended). After a moment he realized what had happened and let out a self-deprecating laugh.

"Stupid cat!

His only answer was Bowen's hiss of anger from the other room.

Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance, again wondering what on earth had made him go to Virginia's apartment and kidnap her cat. He wondered if he was a masochist, to have done that to himself.

Of course, Virginia would be mad if her cat starved to death. So he bore the inconvenience.

He glanced at the digital alarm clock and groaned. It wasn't even eight o' clock yet, and it was the _weekend_, for cryin' out loud! He made it his personal goal to sleep in until at least eleven one day a week, and that stupid cat had effectively wrecked his sleep restoration plans. He determined to wring Bowen's neck as soon as he found the nasty little hairball.

Seeing as his brain had started working, Draco flung back the blankets and paraded into the kitchen in his Garfield boxers, studiously ignoring Bowen's stare from his perch atop the refrigerator.

"You do know the only reason you're still alive is 'cause I'm too tired, right?" said Draco absently as he glared at the refrigerator's innards, trying to decide if he should eat the probably stale cinnamon buns shoved in the back, or go with his typical cold cereal. He grabbed the orange juice and took a drink from the container, still eyeballing the package of buns.

That's what he liked about living by himself- no rules, no dress code, just whatever you wanted. So if he wanted he could do the hula in the living room while playing a ukulele and singing the Star-Spangled Banner.

No that he would, of course…

Draco shuddered at the mental image and replaced the juice.

Okay, mornings were now officially Evil Creations designed for no other reason that to Aggravate the General Populace. _Evil_, you hear me?

Draco looked mournfully at the clawed chair, then glared daggers at Bowen. Bowen calmly stretched and hopped down onto the counter, strolling along like he _owned_ the place.

Draco growled under his breath. He was going to commit _murder,_ who cared if Virginia didn't like him anymore because of it.

Draco lunged at the cat. Bowen leapt to the floor. Draco rammed into the counter and grunted as the wind blew out of his lungs. The cat clawed his way up Draco's leg, hissing the whole time.

Draco seized the cat by the tail and threw it across the kitchen. Bowen hit the ground running and dashed down the hallway.

"Bloody _feline_," Draco spat, gingerly poking at his battle wounds. He commenced cursing a blue streak as he walked down the hallway and into the bathroom on a crusade for antiseptic.

While he was busy torturing himself (otherwise known as cleaning his cuts with alcohol) the telephone rang. Grumbling, he walked into his bedroom and grabbed it.

"What?!"

"_Sorry_," said Snape, sounding insulted. "I'll just take my information elsewhere, if you're going to be so catty."

Draco felt the sudden urge to rip out Snape's throat. _I'll give you catty, you little-_ He cut the thought short.

"It's not you, I'm just having a bad day," said Draco hurriedly. "What is it?"

"Meet me at ten o'clock in City Park, on the boat dock. I'll talk to you then." Snape hung up before Draco could formulate a response.

Draco turned off the telephone and threw it down in disgust. Mornings were evil all right, especially when they had such unsavory characters as Bowen and Chef Boy-are-Snape in it.

After growling about the unfairness of life, Draco finally got over it and pulled on his clothes for the day- jeans and a skull and crossbones t-shirt. He probably looked strange, what with his pale coloring and fair hair, dressed all in black. He honestly didn't care.

While he was thus occupied, the telephone rang. Again. Draco finished pulling the shirt over his head and grabbed the phone from his nightstand, straightening his shirt with his free hand as he did so.

"Malfoy."

"Hi. It's Potter."

"Hey, Potter. Any witty remarks for me this morning?" asked Draco, instantly happy. Potter sounded like crap.

"All sold out, sorry," said Harry dryly. "I still need you to pick up those blasted notebooks, you know."

The night before, Draco had scribbled down Harry's address, then tactfully decided it was best not to be seen going to another man's apartment in the middle of the night. It would be Very Bad for his reputation. So the notebooks were still floating through Harry's apartment, waiting for a translator.

He was hit by a sudden bout of rare insight. "Meet me at ten o'clock this morning, over at the boat dock in City Park."

"Whatever, Malfoy. I'll bring the stuff."

"Good. Just don't put it in a turkey, okay?"

"Huh?"

Draco sighed. No one ever got his jokes. "Never mind. I'll see you later."

AN- Like I said, please write a review in the little box on the bottom. Cuz until I get 35 reviews, this is it, buckaroos!

Draco- ::whines:: but I wanna kill the cat!

Hush, you.

Draco- ::walks off pouting::

::looks at Draco's rear:: Okay, what was I saying? ::blush::

Yes, I'm mad. Don't forget it, either. Anyways, REVIEW!!!!!


	5. A Not-So-Romantic Rendevous

An/N- Major thank-yous to everyone who has reviewed, given ideas, guessed, or whatever, about this story. Thank you! BTW, I will cover the mysterious notebooks in the next chapter, so hang on. 

The Search

Chapter Five: A Not-So-Romantic Rendezvous 

Draco stifled a yawn as he wandered aimlessly down the gravel path, kicking up pebbles as he went.

It was only nine thirty, but he was already at the park, heading towards the dock. He'd learned that you can learn a lot about your contacts by being really early to a meeting and spying on them.

Plus, it was loads of fun.

Draco looked up sharply. Someone was whistling, he could hear the annoying sound coming from just up the path. He cringed, wanting to clap his hands over his ears.

He turned the corner, wondering if he could find some tape and permanently shut the weirdo's trap.

"Fancy seeing you here, Malfoy."

Draco groaned mentally. It was _Potter._ The black-haired man was leaning on a tree trunk, idly flipping through a three-ring binder and whistling what sounded like The Song That Never Ends.

"Stop doing that," Draco said, extremely annoyed. Harry paused long enough to reply.

"Why should I?"

Draco rolled his eyes and marched past Harry, intent on losing him on some winding pathway and never going back to rescue him from the Big Bad Brambles.

__

You're behaving like a four-year-old, Draco, chided a voice in the back of Draco's head that sounded suspiciously like his mother. _Sod off, you old coot,_ he snarled mentally.

The voice fell silent.

Sometimes Draco wondered if he hadn't picked up some insanity gene from his father. He really did.

The whistling stopped and Draco heard rapid footsteps. Potter was back.

"What's all this about, anyway?" asked Harry, trying to match Draco's pace and failing miserably. He hated the whole shorter-legs thing.

"My contact is meeting me here, and I figured you two should get acquainted. He'd love to use you for lunch meat." Draco smirked and lengthened his stride slightly.

"Were you a street thug in another life? Because you really like getting people irritated," said Harry, who was—obviously—Irritated.

"Maybe. You think so?" asked Draco, completely deadpan.

Harry suddenly stopped dead. "Holy crap."

"What?"

"We're actually being slightly _nice_ to each other," said Harry, sounding thoroughly horrified.

Draco grinned evilly. "I can fix that. I didn't know you liked dreadlocks, Potter. It's very becoming on you." He turned and continued walking up the path.

Harry rolled his eyes. He marched after Draco, whistling The Purple People Eater. He grinned as he saw Draco wince.

A few minutes later the pair reached the boat dock. It was basically a couple of long piers with fishing boats tied to them, but it was a dock.

A tall, skinny, black-haired man was leaning on one of the supports, arms folded and eyes downcast. Like he always did, he wore a ratty pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt in some dark color. Today it was navy blue.

"Hey, dude," Draco called casually, adopting a California Surfer Dude accent. He looked the part too, aside from his pale coloring. "What's up?"

Snape looked up, a slight scowl on his face. "What's with the extra baggage, Malfoy?"

"Who, him?" asked Draco, jerking his head in Harry's general direction. "Just some weirdo."

Harry sent Draco a dirty look, still whistling as high-pitched as he could.

Snape approached the other two men, glancing around the area. "You're early."

"Aren't I always?" Draco replied glibly. "So are you."

"Who are you, and why exactly are we meeting this guy?" asked Harry suddenly. He glanced from Draco to Snape and back again.

Snape gave a sarcastic smile and bowed low. "Snape, of course."

Harry wondered why the hook-nosed man didn't divulge his first name, but cast the thought aside.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," said Draco, waving Harry off with all the concern he might give to dry road kill. "What is it you have for me, Snape?"

Snape was instantly somber. "I've learned where Riddle's headquarters are. I'm supposed to meet him Wednesday night, and I've made it known that I have a few people coming along who are interested in Riddle's little organization." Snape gave an evil-looking smirk. "It's your chance to scout the place out. If you want to take the opportunity, that is."

Draco didn't rise to the bait. "How many can you bring without rousing suspicion?" he asked shrewdly.

"No more than four, I'd expect."

Draco nodded and chewed on his thumbnail a moment, walking in aimless circles. After a minute he looked up.

"Potter, you're way too recognizable, no way you can go."

"Ever heard of disguises, moron?" snapped Harry. "I'm going."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I've got a few friends I can bring, if they agree to keep their cool. When, where, dress code?" he asked Snape.

"Meet me at the diner I work at around eight. Don't arrive all at once. Wear dark clothes," Snape replied instantly, sounding as if he'd rehearsed it. That normally would have made Draco and Harry a bit wary, but they were too wrapped up in the idea of finding where Virginia was to worry about it.

"We'll be there." Without another word Draco turned on his heel and left. Harry cast Snape a distrustful glance and followed his blonde counterpart down the path.

* * *

Draco plopped in the armchair and spun around once, watching the teal walls of his small apartment spin past. Then he stopped and reached for the telephone book on the small end table.

Before he had even commandeered Virginia's notebooks and climbed in his Jeep, he'd known whom he was bringing on Wednesday night's shindig. Potter might be upset that he didn't include the Weasleys in on it, but they were too recognizable. They were taking a very big risk just bringing Potter.

Padma Patil was the best sharpshooter Draco had ever met. Once a member of some Army Special Forces team, she was now enjoying an extremely early retirement due to several injuries. Despite the fact that she had a bit of a limp, she was still deadly fast and accurate.

Cedric Diggory, on the other hand, ruled the world of subterfuge and strategy. He could run circles around most people, given enough time to plan his way around them. His only fault was that he tended to overlook the fact that sometimes, the unpredictable happens and that the best-laid plans will fall apart. But his talents helped him enormously in his job as an inner-city cop.

Draco picked up the phone and dialed a number. He absently tapped his fingers on the armrest as he waited for someone to pick up.

"Hello?"

Draco sat upright at the unfamiliar female voice. "Is Padma there?"

"Hang on a second. Hey, who is this?"

"Draco Malfoy."

"One minute."

Draco blew a few stray locks of hair off his forehead, one of his many signs of annoyance.

"Draco? What're you doing calling my apartment?"

"Hey, Padma. Who was that girl that picked up?"

Draco could almost see Padma waving her hand dismissively as she spoke. "My sister, Parvati. What do you need?"

"I need to speak to you in person, as soon as possible. You free this afternoon?"

"I'm free now. Nothing going on today. Where do you want to meet?"

"Meet me at the food court at the mall. I'll call back in a few minutes about when."

"Okay. Later, then."

"Right. Bye." Draco pressed the 'talk' button and the telephone shut off. He flipped through the phone book again. He quickly spotted the correct telephone number.

__

Cedric and Katie Diggory. How long has it been since I saw them? Not long enough.

This time a young boy picked up the phone, no more than five years old.

"'Lo!" said a high, boyish voice enthusiastically. "Whatcha want?"

"Is Cedric Diggory there?" asked Draco suspiciously.

"Yup!" A moment later he heard a voice call in the background, "Daddy! Phone!"

There was a pause, then Cedric's voice filtered over the phone line. "Diggory here," he said lazily.

"Hey Ced, what's up!" said Draco with false cheerfulness. "Long time no see! What've you been up to, dude?"

"Who is this?"

"I'm deeply hurt. It's Draco Malfoy, remember?"

"Oh. You."

"Yeah, me."

"What do you want _this_ time, Malfoy?"

"I'm deeply wounded," said Draco dramatically. "To think that you believe I'd never call someone just to catch up on what's-"

"Enough bull, Malfoy. Spill it."

"You caught me. Yes, I have something I need you to do."

"And what's that?"

"Walk my dog," Draco quipped. "Special Op, Ced. You know the drill. You interested?"

"What's in it for me?"

"Being in on the biggest crime bust ever."

"I'm in."

"Meet me at mall, in the food court, this afternoon around six."

"I'll be there."

* * *

Padma Patil tapped her foot impatiently, tossing her gaze around the food court in search of a once-familiar white blonde head of hair, attached to a very tall and skinny man who always made bad jokes, even when staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

Padma shook herself mentally and pushed the thought away. Old flame or not, he had a job for her, and that meant no emotional attachments of any sort.

She was about to turn and leave when she saw Draco come strutting in like he owned the world, swinging his trusty denim jacket from one hand. Padma rolled her eyes, then began walking towards him.

"Malfoy, what took you so long?"

Draco turned at the sound of Padma's voice. She was standing a few feet off, arms crossed, annoyance burning in her one good eye- the other worked, but was clouded over slightly from some old wound.

"Fancy meeting you here, Padma. It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Draco replied casually.

"Not long enough," growled Padma in her usual manner. Draco had long ago begun to take it for granted that Padma had perpetual PMS; he ignored her gruff manner.

"Whatever. Come on, there's someone else we need to meet as well." Draco gestured for Padma to follow him and headed over to the Cinnabon. Padma sighed and followed him.

Standing idly near the Cinnabon, absently scuffing the linoleum with one foot, was Cedric Diggory. He was almost thirty, but he still had a boyish look about him that attracted females by the droves, be he married or not. Draco grinned impishly as he caught the extremely vague disappointment in Padma's eyes as she spotted the wedding band on Cedric's hand.

"Hey, Ced," Draco called. "What's up, man?"

Cedric looked up. "You finally decided to show up, I see," he said dryly. "And you brought your girlfriend, too. How… nice."

"_Excuse me?_ His _girlfriend_? I beg to differ," said Padma instantly, eyeing Cedric with sudden distaste that proved looks weren't everything.

"Can we be civil please?" said Draco irritably. "We've got one more person coming, then we can get this thing going."

"Really?"

Draco jumped and spun. Harry grinned wickedly. "Miss me?"

"You wish," Draco growled. "Where were you, you little weasel?"

"That'd be Ron you're thinking of," Harry replied cheerfully. Draco's attitude had started rubbing off on him and he'd finally figured out how to not only take it, but dish it out into the bargain. Something Draco didn't take kindly to.

"Shut up, Potter."

Padma and Cedric exchanged looks, clearly expressing their opinion of the two men before them.

"Let's get this going," said Padma sharply, stepping between Draco and Harry. "Stop burning daylight, you guys."

Harry and Draco exchanged caustic looks, but they walked over towards the tables. Padma and Cedric followed, grateful for at least a small respite.

"What's the deal?" asked Cedric as he sat. Padma nodded, flipping her chair around and sitting in it backwards, resting her arms on the back. "My question exactly."

Draco sat and leaned across the table, to try and keep any eavesdroppers out of the conversation.

"It's like this," he said softly, voice hurried. "You guys remember Virginia Weasley?"

Padma nodded, and Cedric gave a grunt that Draco took for a yes.

"She disappeared Friday night under suspicious circumstances. I've got enough evidence to suggest that Riddle orchestrated the whole thing."

"What's it got to do with us?" asked Padma brusquely. An impatient, yet expectant look drifted across her dark features.

"I've got a contact inside the whole operation. He's handed us an opportunity to get inside Riddle's current headquarters."

"And you need our particular expertise to help you get out again," said Cedric before Draco could finish.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"What's in it for us?" asked Padma, one eyebrow cocked. "I hate to go into something like that and lose an arm, and find out I have to wing it."

"That'd be hard, missing one," said Harry absently.

"What exactly do you want?" asked Draco, ignoring his obnoxious partner.

A hungry light was kindled in Padma's dark brown eyes. "What've you got, toothpick?"

Draco shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "I'll have to check, but I might still have that old bike in storage."

This obviously meant something to Padma, although Harry and Cedric didn't understand it at all. She nodded.

"What about you, Ced? You in?" asked Draco, looking over at their silent, stocky companion.

A faint smile drifted across Cedric's face. "Hey, if this thing was a guaranteed adventure, I'd pay _you_ to let me come. All I need is to know you'll cover any funeral expenses if worst comes to worst."

"I'll agree to that," said Draco. "I know you're coming Potter, but there's no way I paying anyone to preserve your skinny butt."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're full of it, Malfoy."

"Such images, Potter!" said Padma impishly.

"Stuff it, Patil," Harry replied cheerfully. "Lest you forget, I have pictures…"

Padma flushed and fell silent. Draco cocked an eyebrow, but no answer to this suspicious behavior was forthcoming, so he shrugged and returned to the matter at hand.

"So, everyone's in?"

The other three agreed.

"Be at the café on Thirty-second Avenue, around seven, this Wednesday. I'd love to stay and chat, but I have other business to attend to." Draco gave a polite nod to the gathered (except for Harry, of course), then stood and left.

AN (again)- 10 reviews for this chapter before I post again, remember? Anyway, should there be tension between Padma and Draco? Cast your vote!

As for my last question, who is Virginia currently going out with, it's neither. She's in a dungeon, for crying out loud. J/K! Both are former flames, but Draco & she had the touch and go thing going on… 


	6. Translations, Mondays, and Cops

The Search

Chapter Six: Translations, Mondays, and Cops 

Draco closed the apartment door behind him and locked it, reaching for the light switch with his spare hand. He tossed his jacket into the coat closet, then marched into his bedroom. A large black three-ring binder was in his hand.

He tossed the binder onto the unmade bed and flipped open the laptop on his small computer desk, next to the window overlooking the street. While it booted up he unlaced his shoes and tossed them in a far corner.

"Hurry up, piece of crap," he muttered to himself, glaring at his laptop and wondering why he didn't just buy more RAM*. It would save him so much time and annoyance.

While the computer beeped and hissed, Draco picked up the binder again and opened it.

Inside there were four beat-up spiral notebooks, each with the codicil KEEP OUT emblazoned across the front in neon block letters. He ignored it and opened the first notebook, then let out a snort.

"I can't believe he can't read this," Draco grumbled. "Potter needs his eye prescription changed."

This was way better than how Virginia had written during her college days. She used to joke that she'd make a perfect pharmacist, because if she could read her own handwriting she could read anyone's.

Draco cast his eyes across the first page.

__

Virginia Weasley's Journal

A record of her discoveries concerning Tom Riddle

August 4th, 1999

I started work at the new agency this morning. They specialize in terrorist activity, part of the reason why I was chosen. I'm junior partner to Justin Finch-Fletchley, this really talkative guy with a natural afro.

We're supposed to be working on the theft of several files from a private business. But all today I was pretty much given run of the office to get acquainted with the people and things there.

They have a HUGE record room. I walked in there and thought I was in heaven, literally. I did a quick computer search on their puny PC (it's slow and pathetic, they really need to fix up a working filing system) and found records on what happened when I was kidnapped. I looked it up and found all kinds of stuff that I hadn't known before.

I plan on checking it all out tomorrow, as soon as I get the opportunity. But we're going over to that business tomorrow morning, so I don't know if I'll be able to.

Note to self- record info in my folder.

The computer was finished booting up. Draco plopped into his rolling computer chair and skidded over to it. He opened Microsoft Word and began typing, glancing between the notebook and the keyboard.

He only did it for everyone else's benefit, of course. And typed pages were far easier to read that Virginia's strange scrawl, even if he could vaguely make out the letters. Although sometimes he wondered if she had switched to using the Russian alphabet without bothering to tell him.

He spent the rest of the night typing.

* * *

"How are things going?"

"Our contact doesn't know what Malfoy and Potter have been up to this weekend, but he has a good guess. They've been to see Ron Weasley, and they've gone through the girl's apartment. Who knows what they know now."

"They do, I'm sure. You're keeping an eye on everything, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Continue to do so. What of the girl?"

"She's still royally pissed, sir," came the replying chuckle. "I'm surprised she hasn't screamed herself hoarse by now. But she's smart. We're keeping double guard on her; don't want her to escape again."

"Good, good. You are dismissed."

* * *

Draco marched up the stairs, too high on caffeine and sugar to bother with the elevator. It's amazing what a mocha and a plate of cookies will do for your energy level, especially after sleeping for a grand total of forty-five minutes all night.

He burst into the front office of the homicide division of the police department. A few Joe Average cops were milling around, along with a collection of special investigators.

"Hey, Malfoy, how's it going?" Seamus called from the front desk. He was fixing the computer yet again.

"You still here?" Draco asked jokingly. "I thought you had better things to do than fix the digital filing system."

"You'd be surprised," said Seamus dryly.

"Got any messages to pass on to me?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, some Digger dude dropped by with this for ya." Seamus fished through a pile on papers then emerged with a folded piece of notepaper. He tossed it to Draco. "Oh, and Michelin Man wants to debrief you."

"I always knew he was weird," snorted Draco. Seamus laughed into his collar.

"No kidding. Anyway, he's in his office, piggin' out on donuts probably."

Draco gave Seamus a nod and started in the direction of his nine-to-five prison, the little cubicle in between the recycling bins and Cho Chang's expansive cubicle, nicknamed the "Dust Bunny Doom Machine." Chang was a horrible neat freak.

Paperwork apparently breeded over the weekend. A nice mound of it was piled into Draco's In box. Draco groaned and flopped into his chair, letting the wheeled contraption skid him across the floor.

"I hate paperwork," he moaned half-heartedly. He pushed himself back to his desk and dumped the lot onto it.

"Who doesn't?"

Draco looked up sharply to see Harry leaning on the cubicle wall, a bland, disinterested look on his face that Draco had seen in the mirror too many times to count. The fact that Harry was copying him didn't help his Monday mood.

"Sod off, Potter."

"Aren't you irritable this morning."

"Only when you're around."

"Don't I feel loved."

"Shut _up_, Potter!" Draco seized a pen and began going over some form or another, chewing on the end of his pen and studiously ignoring Harry's existence in the universe.

Harry grinned to himself. Apparently Draco could dish out insults until the stars fell down, but he couldn't take it himself. "I'd rather not, thanks. Did you check out those notebooks?"

Draco fished a floppy disk out of his jeans pocket and tossed it to Harry, who caught it easily- six years as a shortstop made catching things second-nature to him.

"I translated everything, for the benefit of you lesser mortals," said Draco, a sneer flickering across his face. "It's all there. Now go away, Haystack."

Harry hesitated, then gave Draco a curt nod and marched off, playing with the floppy in his hands and whistling Purple People Eater.

Draco shook his head, rolling his silver-gray eyes at Harry's newly acquired immature behavior. Never mind that he behaved that way on a regular basis.

Draco quite suddenly remembered that Dursley—know quite unflatteringly as Michelin Man—required his presence. He tossed his pen down on the desk and headed down the hall towards Dursley's office—the only real one besides Dumbledore's.

Steeling himself, Draco knocked on the office door. "Come in," barked the resident. Draco stepped inside.

Dudley Dursley, the fat, sluggish excuse of a supervisor, was reading a newspaper and nibbling on a cookie simultaneously. After a moment he looked up and recognized Draco.

"Sit down, Malfoy. I need a full report on your progress as of Friday with the Lawson case."

So Draco sat and let out a string of sentences that probably made no sense to Dursley, but he nodded and 'mm-hmm'ed the whole time.

"Who is taking over the case, sir?" Draco asked when he was finished.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley and Marcus Flint," Dursley replied. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. May I have the folder now?"

Dursley tossed Draco a thick manila folder. Draco caught it and gave Dursley a polite nod, then swiftly evacuated the office.

"Finch-Fletchley and Flint," Draco mumbled to himself. "The two most incompetent detectives on the force. On a case this important? Something reeks."

"You, maybe?"

"Shut up, Potter," said Draco without even looking up. He continued down the hall, muttering to himself. Harry stared after him, wondering what it was all about, but then he shrugged and continued down the hallway.

A few minutes later Draco plopped down in his chair and banged his head on his desk.

"This is just messed up," he said, voice muffled. "Too much happening at the same time. I need to get a new job."

* * *

Late that night, Cedric was cruising idly down a back street. It had been a relatively quiet day—a few speeding tickets, a car accident, and a mugging were all he'd taken care of, really—and Cedric was frightfully bored. 

Of course, it was just Murphy's Law that something frightfully bad happened. The CB crackled to life and the dispatcher's voice filtered into the car.

"We've got a burglary in progress at 732 Sycamore Avenue. Officer Diggory, this is your show."

"Will do," Cedric said into the receiver. He clipped it back on the CB and turned onto Cedar Tree Drive. It connected with Sycamore about two miles down.

The rambling ranch house was dark inside, but Cedric could still hear muffled thumps as whoever was inside either made a big mess or rounded up their booty.

Cedric parked about a block away and stepped out of the car, fingers resting on the butt on his pistol. He walked quietly up the sidewalk, eyes trained on his target.

It would be the last time he went after a criminal for an exceptionally long time.

A/N- Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I feel so loved! ::sniff:: Sorry this chapter is so short, but the next should be a lot longer. Be patient!

I'd like an additional 10 reviews for this chapter, please. It's required payment for the next chapter. :c)

*RAM is Random Access Memory, for all you non-nerds out there. It's the space you move files around in.


	7. Argumentative, Aren't We?

Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own any of the HP chars. (I wish I owned Draco, though.) And I have no money, so don't sue me, okay?

The Search

Chapter Seven: Argumentative, Aren't We?

Draco cursed and kicked a baseball cap across the room. Bowen was next. He was swiftly followed by a pair of dirty socks and an old Chinese food box.

Draco glowered at the wall. "This bites!" He was about to chuck his tennis shoes into his television screen when the telephone rang.

Growling, Draco dropped the shoes and snatched up the phone. "What?!"

"You've heard about Diggory, I see."

"What do you want, Padma?"

"We need a replacement."

"I sure hope you have a few bright ideas, because I sure don't," said Draco furiously. Bowen hissed at him from the top of the stereo.

"Ron and Hermione Weasley, for one."

"You're crazy. Riddle's forces know the Weasleys _and_ Potter practically on sight, and you want to bring _all bloody three of them?!"_ Draco exclaimed shrilly.

Padma gave a low chuckle, which only made Draco madder. "That's exactly why I want to bring them. They know how Riddle works. We don't. And I think, given some time, we could disguise them fairly well."

"We only have two days, so you'd better do it fast," Draco replied.

"I'll talk to Diggory, see where he stashes his disguise stuff. Pick up a few fake mustaches, will you?" The line went dead.

Draco slammed the phone down on the end table. "Stupid Diggory, going and bustin' his leg and getting' a bullet in his rump," he said furiously.

Cedric wasn't _literally_ shot in the butt, the wound was in his lower back, but Draco didn't give a rat's rear about proper anatomy at the moment.

Draco collapsed onto the sofa, head in his hands. "This is _so_ not going well," he muttered.

Bowen growled.

"Shut up."

Bowen glared at the blonde man and slunk away to the bathroom.

Draco took a deep breath to try and regain his composure. Throwing a temper-tantrum and getting his landlord pissed off at him wouldn't solve anything, it would just make a big mess for him to clean up later.

__

I wish Virginia was here, Draco thought suddenly. _She always knew what to do in these situations, knew what the best course of action was. I guess growing up with that many brothers forced her to think fast._

It was the first time Draco had really let himself think about Virginia since Friday night, almost three days ago. Mostly because he didn't want to think about what he knew was happening to her, down in Riddle's mud hole.

Sure she was disorganized and obsessed with her job, and had a bad habit of not listening to authority, and she could be irritating, but she was Draco's best friend. The only one he'd let past his sarcastic, glacial barriers. She knew him better than his own mother- which wasn't saying much, since Narcissa Malfoy didn't even know herself.

He still remembered the day they'd met. Draco, the eternal slacker in his younger days, was pathetically failing his Calculus course- the same one Virginia Weasley was taking. She'd offered to tutor him until finals, at which point Draco was on his own.

That was the best semester he'd ever had in his college days. They hung out two to three afternoons a week and most Saturdays. Draco's grades improved, and Virginia loosened up an incredible amount. After finals they stayed friends, and had gone to the police academy together. When they ended up detective partners eighteen months before, they worked together better than any other partnership in the department.

And now she was gone.

Draco stood and kicked himself mentally. _Don't go getting all soppy,_ he thought sharply. _They'll be time for that when Virginia is back safely._

If _she gets back safely._

* * *

Harry scrolled through the floppy disk's contents again, scowling fiercer than ever.

"What a load of crap! It drops off three months before she was kidnapped!"

All of the information in the notebooks was well known to just about everyone. Harry normally would have just shrugged it off, told himself this was an old record stash, if but for the last entry.

__

June 3rd, 2001

I can't write any more. I'm starting to find out more than I should, and it would be dangerous to write it down. Just having this many records could get me in trouble, and this is only a tenth of what I've learned.

Only someone who knows me REALLY well will know where to look for the other information. I mean, really well. Here's a clue-

Willows.

Harry glared at the computer screen, but he was scraping his cerebral cortex in search of some reference to willows. He couldn't think of any.

Obviously Virginia meant what she'd said about knowing her well. He'd known her since she was thirteen, and they'd had a bit of a fling in high school, and he considered himself a good friend of hers. Yet he couldn't think what this might possibly mean.

Ron might know, or maybe one of her older brothers. Virginia had been slightly estranged from her parents since she left home some six years before, he doubted they knew, or if they did they didn't remember it any more.

Draco might know, and probably did, but he hadn't mentioned anything of the sort. Then again, he wouldn't in the middle of a crowded office, would he? There were probably a few rats in the organization.

Harry gave another frustrated growl. "This _sucks!_"

* * *

Hermione took another sip of her coffee and picked up a sheaf of paper. She scanned its contents absently, not really paying attention.

Her secretary's voice crackled over the intercom. "Call for you on line three, Mrs. Weasley. A young woman by the name of Patil."

"I'll take it." Hermione put down the paper and her mug and picked up the telephone.

"Hermione Weasley here."

"Padma Patil. I'm working with Draco Malfoy on the disappearance of your sister-in-law, Virginia Weasley."

Hermione unconsciously sat up straighter. She grabbed a pen and held it at the ready, fully prepared to scribble down any useful bit of information she heard.

"Continue."

"We've got a special operation going this Wednesday. It's completely independent of the police or federal law enforcement. Myself, Malfoy, Potter, and a man by the name of Diggory were going to do it."

"Were…?"

Padma sighed. "Cedric Diggory is an inner-city police officer, Mrs. Weasley, and last night he was shot while attempting to arrest a burglar. He's in the hospital, and while not in critical condition, he's out of commission for at least three to four mouths."

Hermione had a sudden flash of insight. She knew _exactly_ where this was going.

"And you want me to take his place."

"Not you specifically, but you and your husband, Ronald. You have experience with Riddle's group, and while there would be some trouble getting you disguised, your insight would be greatly appreciated on this mission."

Hermione nodded and scribbled a note on her memo pad. "Anything in particular I should know?"

"I'll drop by your house tonight, around nine. I'll fill you in then."

"All right. Thank you, Padma."

"Adios, amigo." Padma hung up abruptly.

Hermione gingerly set the telephone down in its cradle. Suddenly nervous, she ripped the memo from the pad and stuffed it in the pocket of her pinstriped business suit.

The rest of the business day was effectively shot. She couldn't concentrate on anything for the remainder of the day.

* * *

"Ron! You home?" Hermione called, pushing her way into the door with her hip, balancing her purse, portfolio, and a bag of groceries. She kicked the door shut and made her way into the kitchen, setting down her things.

"Ron?"

The house was silent. Satisfied that her husband wasn't there, Hermione walked into the bedroom and changed out of her business suit and into jeans and a loose sweatshirt, trading her high-heels for a thick pair of woolen socks. It wasn't particularly cold, but she loved this outfit. Not for any particular reason, she just did.

That done, she made her way into the recreation room in the basement. Usually she wouldn't, she'd sit on the sofa and read someone's credit report, but she needed to relax. Coupled with that slightly disturbing phone call earlier in the day, in had been very stressful at the office and she needed to unwind.

"I should've become a bank clerk," Hermione groaned, settling into her favorite piece of furniture in the entire house- a big, worn, leather beanbag. It was an artifact from her college days. Once upon a time she'd spend the night sitting in that beanbag, studying until the clock read four AM. Eventually she would fall asleep with a book open in her lap, and the only way her roommate could ever revive her in the morning was to pump her full of sugar and caffeine.

Of course, these days things were different. Hermione got up every morning at six thirty, weekend or no, spent two hours reading financial reports and getting ready for the day, and if it were a workday she left promptly at nine o' clock and arrived at her office at twenty after. Then she spent the day doing her job—consulting investors and various other stock market nonsense—then left at five fifteen, spent about a half to a whole hour shopping, then arrived home between six and six thirty. Then she'd put supper together, eat—sometimes with Ron, sometimes not—do what Ron called her "homework" for an hour or so, at would usually be in bed between nine and ten.

Ron called her a wanna-be clock. He also called her anal retentive at times, but that was only after they got into an argument over some nonsense.

Hermione shook her head and shoved the whole mess away, focusing instead on the comforting smell of old leather and lemon furniture polish. She drifted away, and was almost asleep when there was a bang, a thump, and a loud curse from upstairs.

"Ow!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked upstairs. Ron was bouncing on one foot, grumbling. He'd knocked over the hat stand again, and this time he'd been properly reprimanded for it.

"I thought you knew that we still had this in the entry, Ron," said Hermione mildly, picking up the stand and putting the hats and umbrellas back in their places.

"Why can't we just put the umbrellas in the closet like _normal_ people?!" Ron grated. He picked up a baseball cap Hermione had missed and stuck it vehemently on the stand.

"What happened today? You usually walk around the stand, you only blunder into things when you're angry," said Hermione. She fixed the stand, then looked up at her husband, hands on hips, an expectant and mildly annoyed look on her face.

Ron pushed past her and into the living room, kicking off his tennis shoes as he went. "I've just got news that for some stupid reason, the team owner hates my guts and wants me off the team. My contract ain't up for another three months, but it looks like after that I'll be coaching Little League," he said furiously. "All because I told the moron off for bullying Conner!"

Hermione didn't bother saying anything. Ron was in one of his moods again, and anything she said would light him off. Sometimes she wondered how she put up with such an idiot.

"We're having grilled chicken and salad tonight," said Hermione blandly. "And don't you dare complain. I'm not about to let you vent on me. Go beat the crap out of a punching bag."

Ron ignored her and tossed his jacket on the coffee table, knocking a magazine to the floor. "This _sucks!_"

"I noticed."

Ron rolled his eyes theatrically. Before they were married Hermione would have chewed him out. Now his bad tempers just bounced off of her. He rather preferred it when she replied furiously. It gave him something to do.

Hermione stepped into the kitchen and began fishing vegetables out of the refrigerator. "We're having company tonight," she called absently as she reached for the carrots. "About nine. _Try_ to be civil, will you?"

Ron appeared behind Hermione and took the carrots from her. "I'll see what I can do, but no promises," he said grumpily. He fished a carrot from the bag and took a bite off the end. "Who?"

"Woman by the name of Padma Patil. It's about Virginia." Hermione turned and faced Ron. "She wants us to help on some asinine rescue mission."

The irritability instantly vanished and Ron's face lit up. "Really?"

Hermione seized the bag of carrots and thumped then down on the counter. "Yes, really. And unless you come up with a really good reason, I'm staying home."

Ron cocked his head to one side, momentarily reminding Hermione of a bird. "I've got plenty of good reasons, Hermione, and I've told you all of them. But none of them seem to go in anywhere."

"They go in, Ron, but I don't think 'so I can beat Riddle to a bloody pulp' is a good reason," said Hermione. "Stop being such a hothead."

"You always say that, every time I want to do something that isn't predictable," said Ron grumpily. He grabbed one of the kitchen chairs, spun it around, and sat down back-to-front. He gestured with the half-eaten carrot as he spoke. "You seem to think, 'Mione, that every tiny thing anyone does needs to be scheduled, planned, and have a great long pole up the rear end of it. I'm afraid that only works with lawyers, love."

Hermione abandoned the salad creation and sat beside Ron. "Investment brokers, not lawyers. The only time I deal with lawyers is when a client is involved in embezzlement or fraud."

Ron waved the carrot absently. "Whatever. Same dif. Look, I know this is really weird to you, seeing as you're an only child and currently have no living blood relatives, but I'd do anything for my sister." 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 

"Almost anything, anyway. You know what I mean! And right now she needs someone to find her and save her butt. If something happened to her, because _I_ didn't do anything…" Ron shook his head. "I can't live with that. I _won't_ live with that."

Hermione smiled sadly and patted his arm. "I know. I helped last time she got into hot water with this guy, remember? She might be your sister, but she's my friend. And I want top help too." Hermione looked solemnly at Ron, her dark eyes unreadable. "But I don't know how, Ron, and the best thing I can do is make sure this isn't mucked up by getting people who _do_ know after her."

"You're lying."

Hermione stood abruptly and walked back over to the counter, where she resumed chopping vegetables with a fury. "And you're insane, Ron."

"Hermione, the very reason they want us in on this thing is because we _do_ know. We went running around trying not to get shot, we went undercover in Riddle's organization, we did it all. We know how this guy thinks. And I think you're just being a chicken."

That did it. Hermione spun, eyes flashing, two livid spots of color on her cheekbones.

"_That was nine years ago! Riddle _knows_ us, Ron! He probably _expects_ us to go after her again!"_ said Hermione furiously, and a bit hysterically. _"You're completely _daft!"

Ron stood and shook his head. "I'm not going to argue with you, Hermione."

"That's a surprise!" said Hermione, throwing her hands up.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Whatever, 'Mione." He turned and left. A minute later, Hermione heard the back door open and close.

Hermione closed her eyes and summoned her composure back to her. Then she turned and calmly began cutting up lettuce again, trying futilely not to imagine it was Ron's head.

* * *

Padma turned off her Mustang convertible. Almost before the engine's hum died down, she grabbed the large paper bag in the passenger's seat and climbed out of the car. She marched up the walkway, her boots thumping on the pavement in a strangely satisfactory way. It made her sound bigger and more intimidating than a five-four Indian woman with a limp.

She pushed the doorbell with her thumb. A low bell chime sounded from inside. Padma tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for an answer.

The door swung open. Padma was met by a pale, dark-haired and –eyed woman a few inches taller than her. If she hadn't known better, Padma would have thought she were your typical housewife rather than a high-powered stock market character.

"Padma Patil, I believe." Yes, it was certainly Hermione Granger. Padma could never mistake that clipped alto voice that could only come from a bossy, perfectionist anal-retentive.

"Believe all you want," said Padma brusquely. She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. "But yeah, I'm Patil. Where do you want this stuff?"

"What stuff might that be?"

"Various disguise crap. Ron here?"

"Yes. The living room's there, I'll go get Ron." Hermione gestured vaguely at a large doorway, then vanished down the hall. Padma walked into the prescribed area.

"Ron actually lives here?" Padma said softly, setting the paper bag on the expensive black walnut coffee table. Other than a pile of magazines tossed haphazardly on an end table, the room was absolutely perfect. White walls, blue carpets, dark wood accents everywhere, ivory-colored furniture. Definitely the home of an investment broker.

Completely unimpressed, Padma sat on the sofa and put her—muddy—boots up on the coffee table. She knew she could get away with it. They wouldn't dare tell her off, she had important information they desperately wanted.

After a few minutes, Hermione reappeared, towing a tall redheaded man. He looked irritated. Padma correctly identified him as Ron. It had been a few years, but she would know that scowl anywhere.

"Hey, Ron. Still in small peanuts?"

Ron plopped—there was no other way to put it—into the leather armchair. It was hard to believe he was twenty-six, with that scowl and his typical rumpled state of dress, he resembled more the fourteen-year-old brat Padma had known in high school. She vaguely thought it was a sad, sad thing that most of her class still lived in this town, herself included. Maybe she should move somewhere else. Somewhere warm.

Padma shook herself mentally. "I'm not going to chatter on, and I'm reasonably certain you know what's going on."

"Of course we know what's going on," Ron grunted. "Riddle's got my sister and we're gonna go beat the piss out of him."

Hermione shot him a dirty look.

"That's the gist of it," said Padma, deliberately ignoring the visual exchange between husband and wife. "Malfoy's got some info from a contact of his. Apparently he's got us a way in. Myself, Malfoy, and Potter are going. Cedric Diggory was going to, but he ran into some… difficulties, and he's out of the rat race.

"So we want you two in on it. This mission is going to be pretty much reconnaissance, we're looking for information, not a shoot-out. We want their trust."

"Riddle knows us, Padma, both Ron and I," Hermione interrupted. "He only hasn't nailed us because he never did find our real names, or any real information. And we're not high-profile enough to warrant his attention."

"I'm not stupid," Padma said irritably. "Stop assuming such. That's what that's for." She gestured at the bag with one boot.

"What's in there?" asked Ron stupidly.

Padma didn't answer. Instead she grabbed the paper sack and emptied it onto the coffee table. Makeup, hair dye, styling tools, hair products, fake facial hair, a few boxes of contact lenses, and a set of false teeth tumbled out in a jumbled mess. One box of hair dye tumbled off the table and came to a stop be Ron's feet. He reached down and picked it up, then gave Padma and Hermione a fierce glare.

"_No. Way."_

"Oh, come on Ron, you look good in brown," Hermione said glibly. She reached over and picked up a box of contact lenses and toyed absently with it.

Ron glared furiously at his wife. "I am _not_ going to dye my hair! _No way in bloody-_"

"Stuff it, Weasley," said Padma irritably. "We can't take you in there without any kind of disguise. And I _am_ going to do something about those freckles."

Ron stared at Padma silently, mouth working. Hermione bit her lip to stifle a smile.

Hermione picked up a curling iron and gave Ron an impish smile. He shook his head furiously.

"Fine, stay home Wednesday then. Hermione, you'll want to straighten your hair and do something with your complexion. Way too pale."

"And you're too dark," Hermione shot back snappishly. "You'll get skin cancer."

"I'm Indian, I'm supposed to be dark." Padma tossed Ron a package of dark brown hair dye. "It's not permanent. Hermione, I'll leave this with you. I trust you not to disappoint me." She raised her eyebrows slightly, in such a way that conveyed the idea that Hermione didn't want to disappoint her. She _really_ didn't.

Padma stood and gave a curt nod to her hosts. "I have other things to attend to tonight. We'll be meeting at Harry's flat to discuss our strategy tomorrow night at eight o' clock. Don't be late." She turned on her heel and left.

Ron groaned theatrically. "I always swore I was never going to let a woman give me any kind of makeover," he said miserably. "Now look at me."

"Stop whining and help me organize this mess, Ron."

"Sod off."

****

AN- Sorry this took so long! I got writer's block for a while. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews! BTW, I'd like to ask y'all something- is it just me, or are Ron & Hermione having problems? They keep telling me so. Anyway, is it marriage on the rocks, or paradise in disguise? Lemme know!


	8. Visitations

The Search

Chapter Eight: Visitations

The clock hanging above the sofa usually ticked on unnoticed, a mere background noise like the sound of cars outside, the thumping bass of a neighbor's stereo system, the rumble of worn plumbing. But as Draco walked through the small apartment, looking carefully to be sure that privacy was ensured for the five conspirators, it was abnormally loud and strangely ominous.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat, wishing the meeting would just get started. Her thoughts were shared by all but Harry, who just wished Draco would stop snooping about his flat.

Finally Draco was satisfied. He returned to the living room and sat down on a patch of faded green carpet. "All clear," he said, almost sounding disappointed. "Let's get on with it."

"It's about bloody time," Ron mumbled. Both Hermione and Padma smacked him. It was the sixth time he'd complained in the last ten minutes, and they were slightly fed up with it.

"Must be nice to be loved," said Harry, completely deadpan.

"Enough of that," said Draco. "Here's the basic rundown- we're meeting at the Astro Diner on Elizabeth Avenue around eight. We'll stagger the arrivals, so we don't attract attention. When my contact gets off, he'll lead us to the rendezvous point. Then we'll be taken to Riddle's current hideout, if all goes well. We'll have as much undercover equipment as possible, so every second will be recorded. This entire trip is pretty much recon, to try and find out what's the game. Although if the opportunity to get Virginia comes, we won't pass it up."

"You missed your calling as a brief sergeant, Malfoy," said Padma dryly.

"What's this whole disguise bit?" asked Ron suddenly. "How exactly are we gonna pull this off?"

"Everyone needs a persona, a name, and a motive, and the disguise stuff to pull it off. We need to know who's who beforehand," said Harry. "At the risk of sounding like we're kids setting up a game of pretend, I'm going to be the guy-on-parole who's tired of being a goody-two-shoes, by the name of Eli Thomas. I've already got my stuff together."

Padma leaned back in her seat and picked at her shoelaces. "You're not going as Adrian, are you Draco?"

Draco flushed and said nothing. Padma grinned wickedly at him while the others exchanged confused glances.

"Too bad, huh? He's so much fun."

"Shut up, Padma."

Padma laughed. "All right. I'm Katie Rodriguez, black market lady."

Draco groaned. "Anyone but her. Come on Padma, be nice."

Padma raised an eyebrow, but didn't give any reply.

"I'll be an embezzling banker," said Hermione. "I can pull it off reasonably well, and they would probably be attracted to someone who could provide funding. I think I'll go by… June something."

"June Grant," said Harry, making the decision for her. Hermione gave him a look of mingled annoyance and amusement.

"Right. June Grant. And what about you, Ron?"

Ron shrugged. "Oh, I dunno. Pick something for me, 'Mione."

"You sure that's a good idea?" asked Harry; bright green eyes filled with mischief. Hermione bit her lip to hide a smile. "Rodney West, street hustler."

"_Whaaat?!"_

"Hey, you asked for it," said Padma, smacking Ron upside the head to get him to stop ogling Hermione like she'd grown three heads. "Deal with it, dude. Or would you rather be a nerdy computer programmer, or a rent-a-cop?"

"Shut up."

"And what about you, Draco?" asked Harry, interrupting what could eventually become a nasty argument. "You said something about a waiter before."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "As if I would condescend so much. No, I'm gonna be something else."

"Like what?" asked Padma. "If you're going as Adrian, please tell me, because I'd love to go as Tali."

"Not a chance, Padma. It was bad enough pretending to be married to you once. I'm going as Derek Thorpe."

"What's he do?" asked Ron, thoroughly enjoying the entire scene. He couldn't wait to see how bad of actors everyone proved to be.

"You'll find out," Draco snapped. "Does everyone have the disguise stuff?"

A chorus of affirmatives sounded out.

"Got weapons?"

Blank stares from everyone except Padma.

"I haven't passed them out yet, Draco," said Padma. She stood and grabbed a small overnight bag from under the end table. Then she sat and began rummaging through it.

"What's in there?"

"Guns, ammo, mini-communicators, smoke bombs, fuses, detonator, plastics explosives, a few knives, and a first aid kit," said Padma, giving Ron an ironic grin. "Bit of a non-sequiter, huh?" She pulled out a pistol and showed it to everyone.

"You'll get something kinda like this. Ten shots per magazine. You get three magazines, along with the one in the gun. Keep it loaded, safety on, just in case." She tossed it back in the bag. "Everyone here know how to aim?"

"I should think so," said Hermione. "You, Harry, and Malfoy are all law enforcement people, and Ron and I know what we're doing with a gun. We've rescued Virginia before, you know."

"Right," said Ron absently, rubbing his arm where Padma had elbowed him during her rummaging. "What she said."

"Still, I want everyone to spend a few hours at a range tomorrow," said Padma. "So you know what you're doing. Also, everyone gets one of these." She pulled out what looked like a tiny hearing aid. "It's a little transceiver, so we can all talk to each other."

Padma spent the next fifteen minutes briefing everyone on their equipment, and the usage thereof. She seemed to find particular pleasure in adding gruesome details when describing the effects of certain weapons. Hermione looked quite green by the time Padma had finished.

"Is that it?" asked Harry wearily. He wanted everyone out of his apartment.

"Yeah," said Padma. "I'll pass the stuff out when we're leaving."

"Anything else, everyone?"

"Where's this diner?" asked Ron.

"Corner of Bankhurst Drive and Sequoia Lane," said Draco immediately. "When you get there, sit off by yourself and pretend to be busy with either the menu or something else. Make sure you order something, the waitresses are pretty touchy."

"Aye, _mon capitan_," said Ron dryly. "Anything else?"

"Nope, that's it. Meeting adjourned."

Everyone stood. Padma wandered around giving out equipment. While she was occupied explaining the transceiver to Ron (again), Harry grabbed Draco by the elbow and dragged him into the kitchen.

"I want to talk to you," said Harry, voice low. Draco's eyebrows raised and a wicked grin toyed with his mouth.

"Don't even start, Malfoy," Harry said, before Draco could speak. "It's about that notebook stash."

"What about it?"

"The last entry said something about willows. Know what that means?"

Draco paused, thinking, then shook his head. "No. I have an idea, but it's probably wrong."

"What idea?"

Draco shook his head again, more urgently this time. "Don't sweat it, rookie. I'll look into it. You worry about the thing Wednesday night."

Harry gave Draco a dirty look. "Fine, be that way. Get out of here, Malfoy."

"Only too happy to oblige." Draco left the apartment, strutting the entire way. Harry mumbled a few nasty references to Draco's ancestry under his breath.

"Harry, you all right?"

Harry looked up sharply. "Yeah, Herm, I'm fine, why?" he replied sharply.

Hermione looked rather taken aback at his vehement response. "You looked put out over something, that's all," she said defensively. "Malfoy can be a bit annoying."

"A bit?" Harry snorted. "He's the embodiment of cruel and unusual torture."

"And you have personal knowledge of this, hmm?" asked Hermione, an echo of Ron's evil grin flickering across her face. Harry wagged a finger before her nose.

"Don't even go there. Just _don't_."

Hermione grinned. "If you insist, _Eli._ Look, I need to go, I'll see you around, 'kay?"

"Yeah. Stay out of trouble."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to, Harry?"

"All right, keep Ron out of trouble," Harry conceded, grinning wryly as he remembered their many escapades in high school and college. "You probably won't succeed, but try anyway."

Hermione snorted. "No kidding. Anyway, bye, Harry." Hermione waved absently and slipped through the kitchen doorway. She grabbed Ron by the elbow, snatched up her purse, and made a rather graceless exit with Ron protesting on the grounds that he still needed to figure out the trans-whatchamacallit.

"You need anything explained to you too?" Padma stuck her head in the kitchen doorway, looking harassed, her one unclouded eye filled with deep annoyance and the need to harangue all non-technological people to death. Preferably starting with Ronald Arthur Weasley.

"Nah, I'm good," said Harry. "Drive safe, okay? I don't want to have to replace someone else."

Padma rolled her eyes. "I'm not a dunder-headed idiot. I'll be fine, _Mother,_ don't sweat it." She vanished from the doorway. Harry could hear her getting her stuff packed again.

"I'm gone, Potter," Padma called over her shoulder as she pulled the front door open. "See you Wednesday."

"Bye," Harry replied absently, opening the freezer to see if he had any TV dinners left. He could cook, but he didn't feel like it and it would end up tasting like crap anyway.

"Willows…" Harry muttered to himself as he tossed the tray in the microwave. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Thinking about it only made the problem worse. Virginia had never mentioned willows to him, and he didn't know what significance it could have. He had, quite literally, hit a mental wall.

"I hope Malfoy knows what it means," said Harry to the empty kitchen, "because otherwise I don't know if we'll be able to figure this out."

* * *

__

Tuesday Night

6:47 PM

Draco checked the scrap of paper on the dashboard. This was the right address, it claimed, but somehow it didn't look like the place he remembered.

Three story, ancient house, painted in slightly faded ivory. A modest front lawn, with flower beds before the large wrap-around porch. The enormous backyard faded into a thick stand of trees. It looked the same, but at the same time…

Draco shook his head as he opened the door of his Jeep. He was going mad. The house hadn't changed at all, except for a few minor differences in the flowers and the house was painted ivory instead of green, with blue trim instead of white, and the chain link fence had vanished.

__

It's been a while, hasn't it, Draco thought to himself as he walked up the stone path to the porch. _I keep imagining redheaded kids all over the place._

Maybe that's what he thought was wrong. The house wasn't swamped in members of the Weasley clan. There was only one car in the driveway, a gray Sedan. No minivans.

Draco knocked sharply on the door. He focused all his attention on listening for the inhabitants to come and answer, rather than wondering what was so amiss here.

The door swung open. A tall, thin, rather bald man whose gray hair was laced with the faintest suggestion of red. Arthur Weasley, Draco's memory told him.

"Yes?"

"I'm Draco Malfoy, sir," said Draco, extending a hand. "Friend of Virginia's."

Arthur accepted the hand and gave it a firm shake. "I thought I recognized you. What can I do for you?"

"This might sound really weird, but…" Draco chewed on his lip for a moment, decided to go ahead and say it, and finished, "I'd like to take a look at the cemetery plot."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "The family cemetery? What ever for?"

"I need to check something." That was partially true, but it wasn't the half of it. Draco crossed his fingers in his pocket and hoped that the old man would give him permission. He didn't want to get nailed for trespassing, after all.

"I suppose so," said Arthur slowly. "You're not going to dig anything up, are you?" he asked jokingly.

"You caught me," said Draco in mock disappointment. "Oh well."

Arthur shook his head and chuckled. "Yes, you can go take a look. Do you know where it is?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Weasley."

"It's Arthur."

"Thanks, Arthur," said Draco obligingly. "It won't take long." He turned and jogged down the porch steps, then turned and began to head around behind the house, quite conscious that Arthur was silently watching him for the doorway.

Draco _really_ hoped he was right about this, because if he wasn't then they would be in some deep kim-chi. And he wouldn't know where else to look, nor who to ask. If Virginia hadn't told him anything, he seriously doubted she'd told anyone else.

The Weasley house was essentially in the middle of nowhere, on a large plot of land that was mostly ancient forest. But back into the woods, just out of sight of the house, was a modest clearing.

This was the Weasley family cemetery. Every Weasley from eighteen forty-two on was buried here, along with a few in-laws. All told, there were about thirty or so graves. Not all of the Weasleys had such large families as the current clan.

In the center of the little graveyard were two weeping willows, one enormous, its branches reaching down to the ground and drifting gently in a mild breeze. The other was a great deal smaller and off to one side, looking like a child trying to find comfort in its mother's presence. The trees stood before a small granite tombstone, carved with the epitaph of a little girl.

__

"Virginia? Where'd you-"

Draco cut himself off as he stepped into a small clearing, scattered with grave markers. Two weeping willows stood in the center, towering as if sentinels over a single green granite headstone.

Virginia was kneeling before the marker, eyes distant. Draco approached as quietly as possible, both wanting to find out what was going on and keep from disturbing her.

It didn't work. Virginia looked up, a sad smile flickering across her freckled features.

"Hi."

"Hello, yourself," Draco replied, quickly crossing the distance between them. "Fred's looking for you, something about socks. What're you doing out here?"

Virginia shrugged and stood, brushing off her clothes. "I wanted to visit Aurora."

"Huh?"

She gestured to the headstone. Draco could see the inscription, now that Virginia wasn't in the way.

'Aurora Elizabeth Weasley, born June 16 1975, died February 21 1984. A light in the dark of night.'

"Who was she?" asked Draco, absently noting she had the same birthday as Virginia.

"My fraternal twin," said Virginia, brushing her fingers across the tombstone's polished surface. "We were in a car crash. No one likes to talk about her, it hurts too much."

"Oh," said Draco lamely, knowing that any apologies or anything else of the sort were just words, and that he really didn't understand how Virginia felt about it.

"I like to come here, to think, I guess," said Virginia. She took a deep breath and looked up at Draco. "What was it Fred needed?"

"The only person she trusted more than me," said Draco with a mirthless smile. "Talked to her much recently, Rory?"

His only answer was the sharp cry of a bird, somewhere in the trees. Draco sighed and turned away from the marker, giving the two willows his full attention. Maybe…

He bent and examined the roots. The larger one's root system was a crazy tangle, arching up over the ground before vanishing again. Grass surrounded it, too much and too healthy for a three-month growth.

He looked at the smaller tree. The grass was shorter, the pale green of plants not quite established. The ground was rougher than it should have been.

"Let's see…" Draco murmured, digging with his hands, wishing he'd had the foresight to bring a spade. He'd be a royal mess before he left.

Eight inches and a lot of cursing later, he hit a blue plastic object. It took a few more minutes to completely uncover it and bring it out, then shove all the dirt back where it belonged and made the ground look semi-normal.

The box was a blue plastic shoebox, completely opaque. The name 'Ginny' was scrawled over the lid in Virginia's distinctive chicken-scratch handwriting. That in and of itself was weird, only her brother Fred and her parents ever called her Ginny. He'd called her Ginny only once and had been thoroughly harangued for it. Apparently whoever called her that had better be either a very close relation or be a lot bigger than her and have at least three black belts, because otherwise they were dog meat.

He didn't open it; he wanted to be nice and safe in his own apartment before he did that. And besides, he didn't want one of the Weasleys to walk up and demand what he was doing, digging through their family cemetery plot.

Draco stood, tucking the little box under his arm, and strode quickly out of the cemetery. This place was starting to creep him out just slightly.

He soon left the woods, reached the street, and was just climbing into his Jeep when he suddenly realized what was so wrong with the old house.

Virginia wasn't here. Every time he'd ever come, she'd been waiting on the bench-swing on the enormous front porch, swinging gently, her auburn hair flying every which way, head bent as she pored over something. Then she'd look up, grin, drop her book and run down the steps, scolding him for being late.

Draco shook his head as he climbed into the Jeep. He really was going crazy. Since when was he so wound up over Virginia, in a way other than him trying to get her out of trouble? And no, he didn't want that question answered.

Draco shut his car door and fished the keys from his pocket, silently telling himself that no matter what happened, he'd find Virginia and bring her home.

No matter what.

A/N- Okay everyone, I know you're dying to know what the heck's in those blasted records and why I can't just tell you, but be patient. It'll be an interesting plot point later on, believe me. Also, major thank-yous to everyone whose reviewed so far, and I hope I can get more. ::hint hint:: Hey, can anyone guess who the rat in the department is? And who thinks they know what the big secret about Riddle's organization is? Whoever guesses right for either one gets a cameo. I know, it's a cheap ploy for more reviews, but hey, maybe you all will get a kick out of it.


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